


Where She Walks

by Gabri



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: AU, Canon - Book & Movie Combination, Coming Out, Emotional Manipulation, Gender Dysphoria, Other, RotG Kink Meme, Slow Build, Transgender, mtf!Jack, talk of body modification
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-18
Updated: 2013-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-21 11:47:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 20,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/597394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gabri/pseuds/Gabri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"<i>Ah</i>," Pitch breathes, voice low and thick with wicked delight. "There it is - the deepest, darkest fear you possess..."</p><p>He backpedals, face twisted with revulsion, but Pitch sinks into his shadow like a phantom, and Jack doesn't have time to swallow his scream before Pitch's shadowy hands are hovering at his side, a dark laugh in his ear. "...your own <i>body.</i>"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Barren

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the RotG kink meme: Jack had always felt that "he" was in the wrong body; spending 300+ years in the shell of a boy can be rough. After joining the Guardians, Jack works up the courage to come out. This is the second fill for the prompt, so I encourage reading the first as well, it's lovely! :) :) 
> 
> I'm adopting some of the book's workings in here and giving Pitch Fearlings (shadow-creatures) to play with on top of his movie-canon of NightMares (the dark horses). I'll also be making reference to his book-canon ability of turning children into Fearlings.

Where she walks, no flowers bloom  
He's the one I see right through...  
-The Civil Wars, Birds of a Feather

\----

North tosses his arms open wide and says "What is your center?"

And isn't that just the perfect thing to ask?

Jack doesn't know what North expects of him yet, but he understands that question well enough, even before he can bother with answers. His _center_...his _core._ The truth about him. And it figures, really, because he doesn't _know_ the truth. 

Not for sure, anyway. Not well enough to put his foot down and come right out with it. He can't bear the thought of putting that secret on display.

North looks at him expectantly. It's a shame, because he doesn't want to push him away, even if he's sure he doesn't want to be a Guardian. Out of all of them, North's unbridled sense of wonder grows on him the quickest. So Jack doesn't protest when North press his Matryoshka doll into the center of his palm, and he thinks, quietly, of floating within a whirling snowfall, letting the Wind pluck him up until he feels as aimless as a dandelion seed.

His center, North says...

Watching the boys and girls play, and always choosing a particular side to start at...how long has that been going on? How many years before it really started to nag at him? 

When he still newly born, he used to follow pools of Moonlight to Antarctica and Greenland and back again, tossed about like a pebble through a vast, beautiful Earth. wherever the wind took him, Jack could see that there were always girls and there were always boys. It was child's play, deciphering the simple signs of gender. He could tell them apart easily in every case. 

Every case except for one. 

One...person.

But Jack is an _invisible_ person, and that tends to place who he is and what he wants very low on the scale.

 

\----

Children are his one true joy. Jack adores them simply because of their unbridled nature, their unwavering eagerness to play. At the drop of a hat, they can go from sulky to _fun_ , and the untamed flurry of delighted screams and flailing limbs is the perfect place for him to slip in, unnoticed, and pretend.

He can almost forget that when he cheers, they don't hear his voice. He can dance about on the outskirts of their games, tossing snowballs to mix up the adventure, darting in between their smaller bodies and shouting out encouragement and bubbling laughter. It's almost perfect, really. It's almost perfect because it's almost his.

Because he's tried everything, _everything_ , to make them see that he exists, and nothing ever works. He's asked and pleaded, threatened and cried, he's _begged_ with the Moon for some kind of mercy from that terrible cage of loneliness, but nothing has ever changed. 

He's doing something wrong. There's something wrong with _him._

And the worst part is - he _knows_ that. He _knows_ there's something off, something more than his invisibility. It runs deeper than that, an acute sense of dissatisfaction, of not belonging. 

To think that he may never been believed in is unbearable. But to think that even if he was, that awful 'something' would _still_ be there...? 

He holds that thought deep inside of himself, locked up, desperately ignored, because it's just too _scary._ It's too horrible, too _terrifying_ to think that deep down in the root of his very being is an unfixable mistake.

That awful thought creeps up on him from time to time. Watching families through foggy, closed windows. Sons roughhousing, daughters shrieking in delight. A husband who kisses his wife on the cheek, holds the door open for her, tugs flat the lines of her Christmas dress. They have roles, identities. And it's _frustrating_ , to see how comfortable they are in their bodies.

He's never felt that way. Not really.

Jack tries not to overthink what he's doing. When he reappears at his beloved lake, he tells himself he's only there to tease frost blooms to the earth. But instead he finds himself crouched down over the icy surface, squinting at his hazy reflection. He smoothes down his hair, presses his clothing flat, turns this way and that to see all the hard, angular shapes, the narrow hips and the line of his jaw...

...and thinks with painful clarity: _This isn't who I want to be._

The gray sky is open, bringing in clouds like a rolling tide. It's perfect for new snow, so Jack calls in a wave of it and wraps it around himself like a cloak.

Thoughts like _it'll pass_ and _nothing has to change_ are comforting for a short time. But decades later, that feeling of wrongness still stands like an ugly, open wound, and Jack knows better think it will ever really go away.

\-----

The Guardians don't accept no for an answer, but Jack isn't giving in yet. He watches them move about in familiarity, as bright and revered as precious gems. Individually, each is spectacle too great to be ignored. 

Jack doesn't want to linger, but North insists. It's hard to argue when he's pulling out the big guns - like that sleigh, for instance. Oh, is that sleigh ever the final straw...Jack likes to think he's above being bought by toys, but it's just so _perfect_ , with the extra wings, and the silver-shiny trim, thrashing reindeer looking ready to set fire to the ground in their eagerness to be off....

Even more satisfying: it turns out Bunnymund has a fear of heights. 

It's so unexpectedly _vulnerable_ that Jack can't help but tease. 

He's honestly having fun, exacting small revenge upon the Spring spirit, grinning up at him from beneath the wind-streaked bumper of the sleigh. Bunnymund's indignant expression is enough to make him cackle. He perches up high in case the other has it in his mind to make a swipe at him - Sandy's little nook in the top seat is the perfect spot to hold on - but it's quickly clear to him that Bunnymund is more invested in holding on for dear life than play-fighting. 

And then Tooth is there, leaning back to smile up at him, all gleaming, iridescent feathers and pretty purple eyelashes. She's so bright, so utterly _feminine_ that he finds himself uncomfortably distracted by it.

There's nothing vulnerable in there - no, Tooth is all glee and confidence, giddy at the sight of a new, white smile. It's no wonder there are girls in Burgess who idolize fairies - she strikes a bold image there by herself.

Jack feels something twist inside him, like a key fumbling roughly in a lock. It's unpleasant, so he turns away and looks down at the scenery speeding by instead.

But in less than a minute, they've taken North's portal into the vast, golden oasis of Punjam Hy Loo, Tooth's Palace, and the terrible chaos that greets them is enough to drive all thoughts of bitter longing from his head.

\-----

He's never met the Nightmare King before, not face-to-face. Jack doesn't need to sleep - as far as he knows, no immortal does - but that's not to say he hasn't dreamed.

He's spent days tumbling through the air like a comet, summoning snow and tugging at the wind to douse the children in wild, winter flurries. He's tripped along beside them, played with them, listened to their conversations while tapping coils of frost along any and every available surface.

Sometimes they play, sometimes they rest. Sometimes they fight, sometimes they giggle. Sometimes they embrace, collapsed in heaps of snow, linking arms.

And Jack knows exactly where he would place himself in their world, if he had that choice. As much as he tries to push away that feeling, as much as he tries to talk himself out of it, he knows what he wants, exactly who he wants to be.

When he sees his reflection, it's like looking through the shell of someone else's body. 

It's like being caged, for hundreds of years, under the wrong colors, with the wrong voice to represent it.

No mortal can see him, and he doesn't dare believe that any immortal could accept him. The Man on the Moon, his only guiding star, hasn't said a word for hundreds of years.

No, Jack doesn't need to sleep. But that's not to say he doesn't know nightmares.


	2. Walkway

When Pitch meets Jack for the first time, he dismisses him in a heartbeat.

But the four Guardians snap into action in a frenzy of fearlessness that seems second-nature, spiraling forward in colored blurs until Pitch is forced to retreat. They are the stuff of legend, but there is no victory in their stances this time. 

Around them, Punjam Hy Loo and all of it's rich, golden glory steadily morphs into decay. Jack watches as the vibrant palette of reds and yellows slowly fades into rusted shades of brown and shadowy gray. To Tooth, the blow is physical - her entire self seems to have wilted like a starved flower, wings just a bare flutter at her emerald back. She clutches tiny Baby Tooth to her like a last good luck charm.

While Sandy and Bunnymund hover around a pacing North, Jack tip-toes in close and crouches down to where Tooth is kneeling, her hands pulled tight around her middle as if the very thought of standing up will render her sick.

"Why did Pitch want the teeth?" he asks gently as she peers down sadly at her feathered legs.

"They're not just teeth," Tooth sighs, looking up at him imploringly, "They're memories. They're every good, sweet, innocent thing about childhood, they're everything that matters _most._ We keep them safe here, so we can bring those memories back if they need reminding - "

"Memories," Jack repeats, rising slowly with her as she pushes back to her feet. 

"We had _all_ of them here, Jack." Her tiny hand fits into the spot above his shoulder blade, and he can't tell if she's leaning on him for support or just trying to guide him into her footsteps. "All of them. Even yours..."

"Even - _mine?_ "

Tooth doesn't seem to realize he's stopped walking until her hand slides off his shoulder completely. Then she stops, turning, and takes in the wide-eyed look on his face. "Well, yes...your memories of your past life."

"My _past life?_ " It feels, suddenly, as if he's a thousand feet up in the air, stomach dropping until there's nothing keeping him from plummeting down, down...

"Jack?" Tooth whispers.

"I had a _past life?_ " His voice is cracking in excitement. 

"Of course, Jack, we all did. We were all _somebody_ before we became Guardians-"

"I never - I just assumed I was always - I could have had a _family?_ A home? I could have been -" _anyone,_ he thinks, his heart leaping up into his throat.

"You really don't remember?" Tooth is saying in astonishment from what seems like miles and miles away. His head is spinning, his entire body suddenly alight with energy, overwhelmed with the idea of -

_I could have been anyone._

He could have _belonged._ He could have been _different._ He could have been - been - it's too much, too painful and hopeful and _wonderful_ to entertain the idea of a young, female Jack Frost, one that could have _really existed_ -

No, no, but if it were true - it could _all make sense._ Somehow, someway, in some long-forgotten past, there could have been a Jack Frost in a body that _fit_. Then - _something_ happened, and he was - was put in the body of this Wisp - and it's just that he _doesn't remember,_ and maybe _that's_ why he always felt so - so --

The thought seemed ridiculous, impossible even, but if there was a chance - just the slightest chance that it could be true --

"I need to get them back."

"But Pitch has them now...Jack, are you alright?" she keens.

"It's - I have to, it's important!" There's a wild sort of joy in his voice. Her hands are fumbling on his shoulders, and quickly he grasps them and holds them still. 

Tooth squints at him, honest bewilderment laying lines across her pretty forehead. She can sense, now, that the prospect of finding out more about himself runs deeper than just basic curiosity. "Why is it so important, Jack?" she says softly, and the deeper meaning of _why?_ is understood.

He stares at her eyes, the large, pretty orbs of violet-flecked-yellow, the sheer _want_ of kindness that radiates off her, and all at once he wants to tell her everything, every last detail of the last three hundreds years that he's been wishing, wanting, hating the body he's trapped in, praying for some sort of way to make sense of -- a way to _fix_ \--

He's squeezing her hands very tight. It doesn't fully register to him just how hard his grip is until her concerned expression melts into a hissing wince. Quickly he lets go, wringing his own hands out anxiously while she rubs at her palms and blinks up at him meaningfully.

"Jack..."

"We can get them back." he says, grinning. Even with her unsettled expression right there in front of him, he can't help but be excited. He's been waiting three hundred years for this little sliver of hope, and now here it is. If he lets this go, he may never get another.

"But _how?_ The children, they don't believe in me anymore..."

"We'll make them believe!" North insists, pacing and pacing, his bright blue eyes alight with ideas. " _We'll_ get the teeth!"

"We're talking seven continents -"

"Nonsense! Do you know how many presents-"

"How many eggs-"

Tooth's face, once so hopeless and lost, is slowly lighting up like a beacon. From his perch aside, Jack twists his hands tight around his staff, crouched over it like a lifeline, eyes dancing over the frantic, excited bodies of the four plotting Guardians.

"We can do this!" Tooth is cheering, giddy with excitement as she flits around between them. "We can really do this! Jack? Jack?"

"I'm in." he promises, and for the first time in a long time, he thinks he might actually be headed towards an answer.


	3. Hangman

Tooth is zooming about with such excitement that the stars themselves seem pale next to her beaming face. Around them, the tiny body of her remaining fairy is streaking across the night sky, her miniscule hands clutched around round, gold coins and newly shed teeth. North is a booming missile of smoke, chortling happily, and Jack barely has time to linger on the contagious spark of his smile before he's off again, riding on the current of the Wind.

"Frost!" comes an annoyed voice as he passes.

"How's second place feel, cottontail?"

"That's a losing battle your picking, mate." Bunnymund warns, darting ahead of him with surprising speed. Jack cackles, the wind pulling his hair flat back against his forehead. He's all about playing - and now he's playing with people who can see him. 

_Now this,_ Jack thinks, _is *fun*._ It's like moonbeam tag and snowdrops and the light of the Aurora Borealis all rolled into one crazy, joyous package.

And the most exciting part is that with every passing second, he's headed closer to getting his memories back, closer to that beautiful _maybe_ that's clutched tight around his heart.

He slips into windows with ease, carefully picking out teeth at Tooth's direction before flying off toward the next target. It's a large-scale game, and the competition only makes it more fun. Above them, Sandy floats like a golden, gleaming bauble, bringing a peaceful sort of pause to Jack's game. The contrast of shining yellow against the inky black sky has always been a comforting symbol, but now it's so sneaky and devious that he makes a point to dart ahead and beat Sandy to the next house.

"Ah- _ha._ "

Jack grins, flipping a molar into his palm just in time for Sandy to arrange his face into an annoyed pout. He's feeling on top of the world, even when Tooth brings everything to a halt and reminds them about leaving gifts ('but they can't be too big', she warns, 'nothing to make the adults greedy, okay?')

North beats Bunny in leaving an oddly-placed Christmas tree, who beats Sandy in leaving three pearly-colored eggs, who beats Jack in leaving three silver coins and a glowing, victorious smile.

It's all like a dream come true...and then, of course, something has to go wrong.

Every Guardian except for Sandy is in a pile on Jamie's bed, and Jack's stifling laughter, trying to think of a clean solution when something passes by Jamie's open window that's far too big to be just another night creature.

He's off like a rocket, Sandy slow to follow. The excitement of the chase is there, of course, but he'd be lying if he wasn't already feeling disturbed pangs from the Nightmare King's minions. 

What greets him outside, however, is greater than he expected.

" _Whoa_ ," Jack breathes, freezing mid-flight to stare, because he's never seen so many creatures of darkness all in one place. There's the NightMare that Pitch has summoned - he recognizes it's shape from the window, oversized and wildly shimmering - and stomping around the sky are at least five or six others. Between their hoofed feet, the bodies of a hundred Fearlings slither and pace like ugly, prowling cats. 

Jack's seen them before - dots of blackness streaking the air like tiny comets. They hid in shadows during Pitch's attack on Punjam Hy Loo - but now the sheer numbers of them are overwhelming. It seems the night is crawling with pairs of empty yellow eyes, all fixed on his face...

And then, all at once, they flee.

"Wait!" Jack cries out, swinging his staff around to attack, but the minions are too fast, too well-suited for running. They slip into corners and melt into the night at an alarming rate, but Jack just barely manages to catch the dark mane of a NightMare, and --

 _There._ The creature makes a pained, withering sound, and Jack swoops up upon a building in time to see it's body melted against the ground. The swirl of frost and darkness make an odd, spiky shape across the roof.

"Gotcha," Jack whispers, taking careful steps forward with his staff held ahead of him, and then something slips into the space at his back and suddenly--

"Well, well...you're _still_ here?" sighs a low, unamused voice, and Jack jumps up and twists to strike.

True to his nature, Pitch is twice as slippery-fast as his many minions. He evades Jack easily, tutting, coming to rest with casual smugness upon a higher surface. "And here I thought you weren't so _chummy_ with the Guardians..."

"I'm not." Jack protests automatically, raising his staff high until the bend of it has come to point with Pitch's dark form. The bright color of Punjam Hy Loo had left the Nightmare King looking like a stripe of dark ink, but here in the night, his face has an entirely different glow. The burn of his pale gold eyes stands out like the irises of a cat, leaving the pin of his gaze particularly unnerving. Jack grimaces, brow drawn, finding it hard to look away.

"Oh, _really?_ " Pitch coos. "But you _want_ something from them, don't you?"

He gives his head the barest shake. Pitch grins in response, shark-like, and flickers his gleaming eyes pointedly over Jack's still form.

"... _nothing...?_ " he presses knowingly.

Time is slowing down. Jack re-adjusts the grip on his staff, trying to ignore the way his palms seem to be slipping. Pitch couldn't be...implying...he doesn't know about _that_ , does he? No, there's no way - it has to be his imagination. How could he possibly...?

A dot of gold snaps him from his thoughts. Pitch follows his gaze and jumps away, alarmed. "A-ah, just who I wanted to see--"

And if there's one thing he hadn't known about Sandy, it's that the dream-Guardian could be so _strong_. Pitch draws a wicked looking scythe, but it's nothing against the gold-lined shape of Sandy's whips. It's a battle that shakes all thoughts of personal worry from his head, as the three of them tangle down into the streets, swarmed by an army of liquid-bodied Fearlings and thundering NightMares. 

But in spite of this, the night in progress has been more hopeful than it has hopeless. Pitch may be the King of Nightmares, but Jack hasn't felt that true, all-consuming fear quite yet. And with Sandy at his side, he's not afraid at all.

Because Sandy was right in skipping the small talk - Pitch doesn't know anything. Sandy was right to fight with no limits - he has no need to hold back. The NightMares and the Fearlings, they're not enough to bring him down. All he has to do is keep believing --

But --

But of course, of course, something always goes _wrong._

\-----

 

He remembers feeling a _rush_ , something that gathered just under his skin like an otherworldly current. The coldness of his body seemed to almost burst from within, forcing it's way out until he felt as static-shocked and wild as a firework.

He remembers...screaming. Screaming and charging forward.

And Pitch's face, once smug and dark, lighting up with honest surprise.

Surprise and _delight._

The Guardians had arranged a sort of funeral. Tooth was silently placing candles around the empty center where Sandy's outline stood. Jack had never been inside of North's fortress before the Moon had summoned him, but he knew it was never supposed to be this silent. 

_...why would Pitch be happy that he...?_

No, he doesn't want to think about that. He wants to think about Sandy. It's Sandy he let down today. 

North comes to see him after the ceremony. There's a odd paleness around his eyes, like the shock of sorrow is unnatural to him. Even looking down into Jack's face, he's managing a smile. It's almost like he thinks there's a secret between them, but Jack has no idea what that's supposed to be and honestly, he's too beaten down to try and guess.

"How _proud_ you should be feeling." North insists. "You stood up to Pitch!" His broad, open hand wrapped around Jack's shoulder. There's nothing to do but accept the reassurance, so he just nods and runs it over in his head again, the attack, Sandy's charge--

And gold eyes, looking him over... 

But that was nothing, he's sure. He needs to stop dwelling on it, it's making him sick...

"Jack?" North pats him comfortingly. "There is something you want to tell me?"

Jack looks up at him briefly, then back to the frosted windowsill. He thinks of Sandy, burning with hope, and Pitch's wild, gleeful anger. But mostly he thinks of that moment on the roof, when Pitch's eyes seemed to see right through him.

And he's....scared. 

Because the thought that Pitch knows his secret is...is unbearable. It's boiling up inside him, burning behind his eyes, twisting his guts up into knots. If Pitch knew...he could tell anybody, he could say _anything_. And Jack couldn't deny it. It would all be out for the Guardians to see, for them to question and protest over. Rejection. Bewilderment. Disgust. Jack isn't - isn't ready, he might _never_ be ready, not for _that_ \--

"No." he decides. "There's nothing."

North drops his gaze and doesn't answer. Jack waits for him to be gone. He'll get up and follow, soon. He just needs a moment.

Sandy's frost pattern on the glass is starting to fade. Quietly, Jack traces it back to life, wishing it were as warm and golden as the real thing.


	4. Sinking In

Easter is next, and Bunnymund is determined to resurrect them from their sorrows with the promise of spring hope and faithful children. His home and workshop, the Warren, is a beautiful oasis of greenery and delicate, new life.

There is also a surprising amount of _eggs_. And not just the little legged ones, too...

Jack can't help but snicker, because he knew Bunnymund liked the shape, but there's actually pedestals and nooks along the mossy walls displaying exotic, gem-like eggs. (Tooth tried to touch a particularly large, glittering egg that made Bunnymund twitch and straighten until she pulled her fingers away in surprise. Jack hadn't bothered covering up his chortling, giving him and amused look to which to Guardian sniffed and grumbled something about 'Himalayan Snow Geese' and how it was a 'great rarity - wouldn't expect you to appreciate, Frost.')

And then there was Sophie. None of the Guardians knew how to handle her - Jack was the only one who even knew who she _was_ \- but that was taken care of easily enough. A few snowflakes in the Warren could get by fine, and once Bunnymund got a little nip of the cold he all but melted. He and Sophie were inseparable for the rest of the evening. 

Jack was glad. It gave him time to dish out paint with Tooth.

"Look at these leaves!" she giggled, Baby Tooth nuzzling her cheek as she strummed the end of a coiled vine. "They're actually really cute, aren't they? Most people don't see that softer side of Bunny, but I guess it's not every day we see his workshop, too!"

"Softer side? Riiight..." Jack teases, stamping blue polka dots on a honey-colored egg with his fingertips. He likes Tooth, and the more she talks, the more she grows on him. Listening to her go on like this makes his mouth want to stick in a permanent smile. Jack can't help but think this particular happiness has a lot to do with the fact that she's the only female in the Guardian's Four. 

It made him nervous at first, but he's never had a female friend to relate to before. It's gotten so easy to talk to her that Jack almost feels like he's at home, somewhere closer to himself than he's ever gotten to be.

But as much as he wants to keep his spirits back up, there's a pair of gold eyes in the back of his head that won't stop nagging. And if he ask to ask someone, she's probably his best bet.

"What do I know about...Pitch?" Tooth repeats, only half-hiding the grimace that twitches into her eyes. On her shoulder, Baby Tooth gives a puffy little shudder.

"Well....you've fought him before, right?" he presses.

"Oh, Jack, he's a terrible man, he really is." she says softly, turning her eyes back to the half-colored eggs that are marching purposefully past her feet. "And his teeth are just _awful._ "

...there he goes, smiling again.

"He runs away just as soon as he's failing, it's so cowardly! But you know he's a coward already...you saw what he did to my fairies..." She takes a moment, clenching her fingers tightly, before continuing. "In the Dark Ages, children were scared for their very lives. There were Fearlings... _everywhere_...in every dark corner. And that wasn't even the worst part, Jack. Some of the children, he'd take with him. He'd turn them into Fearlings themselves!"

"Into...Fearlings?" He stops, and she looks up sadly to meet his eyes. "But how?"

"I don't know - I've never seen it done."

"But he can't do that _now?_ "

"I don't know, Jack." she says again, gently. "But all we can do is fight our hardest. The children are counting on us."

"Yeah...you're right." He casts his eyes back on the vast stretch of earthy ground. In the distance, Sophie is chasing butterflies. Bunnymund lifts her up to reach the higher ones. Her shrieks of delighted laughter send them scattering.

Tooth beams at him, her small hand fluttering comfortingly over his. The show of a thousand marching ovals brings a satisfied smile to all of their faces. But it's Bunnymund who looks the most at peace when their work is through, cradling a sleeping Sophie in his great, furry arms. There's a heartfelt sweetness in his downcast eyes that Jack privately thinks is more rare and rewarding than his precious 'Himalayan Snow Goose egg.'

"Not bad." he says.

"Not bad yourself." Bunnymund catches his eye.

So maybe everything will be alright, after all.


	5. Crosshatch

He had only meant to take Sophie back home. The trip was going to be very short, and Baby Tooth was there to tag along. 

Someone called out to him. Called his name. 

Jack knows that voice.

It's - it's a _girl's voice._

Baby Tooth prods and whines at him, but Jack is completely taken in by that familiar sound. The Wind brings him closer and closer until he's standing at the edge of a hollowed out, broken bed. On his shoulder, Baby Tooth is squeaking and tugging at his hoodie with tiny fists.

 _"Jack! Jack!"_ the voice calls, and all his doubts are melting away...

No moonlight can enter that dark pit. Not even the North Wind could carry him out. 

_"Jack...!"_

But he has to go in.

He has to.

\-----

Right away, Jack knows where he is. Staff clutched firmly in both hands, he takes careful steps along the stony, colorless ground. Above him are rows and rows of twisted metal cages, where the excited and hopeful squeaks of Tooth's fairy army pick apart the dead air like tinkling bells.

"I'll get you out, just hold on." Jack promises, but none of them are even trying to open their wings. _They can't fly_ , he thinks. But there must be a way out, he'll find it-

_"Jack!"_

He swings around, eyes crawling across the mountain of golden containers Pitch has left strewn across his lair. Tooth's collection...it's coming from _there..._

He hops down, ignoring the fairies warning cries, tearing through container after container of unfamiliar faces. A wild feeling surges up inside him - dread, longing, excitement, fear...it has to be here - it has to -

"Looking for something?"

Jack springs to his feet. From across the small divide, Pitch is looming like a great, bloodless bat. Jack brings his staff up, skin crawling, his own teeth bared in a snarl-

"Oh, but your fear is so sweet..." Pitch sighs languidly.

" _Pitch._ " Jack growls, but his ears are straining for the sound of that girl's voice again. It was so clear...so _personal_...like a precious memory, locked away in his heart...

It could be his. His memory. His... _her_ voice. It could be. It could be....

But Pitch's sharp eyes cut into him, turning hope into fear. _But what if it's not_ , he thinks. _What if...?_

It's that moment on the rooftop all over again. Jack stares hard into his eyes, mouth dry, overcome with the thought of _what if he knows, what if he knows...?_

"...you don't even realize how you look to me, do you?" Pitch's thin mouth twists into an scimitar smile. "I can smell your terror from a thousand miles away, Jack, you're _dripping_ with fear..."

"I'm not afraid of you." Jack intones back dangerously, his knuckles white around the bend of his staff.

"Maybe not! But you're afraid of something. I am the Lord of Nightmares - I know _everyone's_ worst fear. What do you think yours is?" He pauses, relishing the slow draw of sick truth. "Well. You're afraid, of course, that you'll never be believed in. You'll never be accepted for who you are....but that's not all, is it? You don't _know_ who you are. You're aching for that knowledge, you want it within your grasp so _badly_..."

He's prowling, gliding over the floor without even the ghosts of footprints to betray him. Jack twists around wildly, his staff swinging for a target. Every movement brings the Nightmare King closer.

"But that's not the _best part_ -" And he's _right there_ , hot breath on his ear, close enough to make Jack start with surprise. He stumbles, bumping into Pitch's unyielding body, so that his hips smack into Pitch's side, hard enough to make them both stumble. But the Nightmare King holds himself upright with elegance, while Jack flinches away hard at the small contact, an involuntary noise of disgust escaping him.

It's only there a moment, that flinch, but it's then that Pitch sucks in a breath and Jack knows quite suddenly that there he's given himself away.

" _Ah_ ," Pitch breathes, voice low and thick with wicked delight. " _There_ it is - the deepest, darkest fear you possess..."

He backpedals, face twisted with revulsion, but Pitch sinks into his shadow like a phantom, and Jack doesn't have time to swallow his scream before Pitch's shadowy hands are hovering at his side, a dark laugh in his ear. Jack swings blindly with his staff as Pitch's silky voice laughs out with glee:

"You fear...your own _body!_ "

"No!" Jack hisses back, but Pitch just seems to dissolve into shadow just as Jack closes in for a strike. The darkness presses in, crawling up his back like tangible shivers, bringing his body into contrast and highlighting every incorrect line.

"You want it to be _different_." Pitch coos, mockingly mournful. "It's just _too cruel_ , isn't it?"

And it seems like somehow that his own reflection is everywhere, that twisted shell, the terrified eyes blown wide, the mismatched lines of his body laying bare like a spotlit exhibit for Pitch's eyes to pick apart. He's so overwhelmed by the picture, the boy that stares back at him that _is not Jack, has never *been* Jack_ \- and it's never looked so obvious before, so naked, so _wrong._

"No wonder you were oozing fear, you pitiful thing, you're a walking embodiment of your own darkness. You carry it like a second skin..." Every word strikes a harsh truth, so that it seems impossible to argue, but at the same time, Jack wants to do nothing else. He struggles and thrashes and twists and shouts until suddenly Pitch is before him, laying deathly gray fingers against his face with a smile that is so tauntingly gentle that it leaves Jack motionless.

"Can you tell me now that you're not afraid?" He breathes, leaning in, and Jack hates himself for how he flinches away. "You, whose own worst enemy is yourself? But...what would you give to make it different?" The fingers on his face flutter, gently tucking his hair back from his forehead. It's gentle now, his voice, his touch. "If you could live in a shell to suit your...needs. Imagine that, Jack! What would you give if such a thing were possible?"

"It's not." he whispers, and Pitch grins crookedly and pets a hand down his cheek. The _knowingness_ of it is enough to make Jack tense. 

" _It's not...?_ " he repeats. "Oh, but it _is_. Together, we would be capable of things even the _Man in the Moon_ could not dream up. I could give you a new life, Jack! A life of ice and shadow, of _cold and dark_ , a life where any shape you choose would be yours. Together, we would embody perfection. The Nightmare King and his Darkling Prince..."

"You'd turn me into a Fearling-!" Jack starts in horror.

"I could turn you into what you've always _wanted!_ " Pitch interrupts strongly. "Reborn as the creature you so long to be. You gave the Moon it's chance, didn't you? And I dare say it's clear he's _disappointed_ you. This is not the life you want, your fear says it as plain as day-"

" _You don't know what I want!_ " 

" _Don't I?_ " And there it is, the golden container that he's been looking for, safely tucked into the curve of Pitch's palm. There's a face on the front, a sweet, colored stamp of a smiling brunette, and Jack forgets to breathe as he looks desperately for some sure sign of it's gender -

He's reaching a hand out, wanting, longing with every last fiber of his being --

And then Pitch pulls away.

"You and me, Jack, we're not different at all. We've been alone...invisible...we've been cheated of the appreciation and respect that we _deserve_. Nobody has believed in us. And _you_ , you haven't even believed in _yourself_. The Guardians could never understand-"

"You don't know that." Jack protests, and the hard, pained sound of his voice surprises him back into silence.

Pitch, of course, takes note of that sure sign of doubt. Dark confidence lifts the corners of his mouth. "Then let me ease your mind. _They won't accept you, Jack._ Not ever. Not really. They don't see what you really are, what you could _be_ , if you were given the chance. But I _do_ understand. _And I'm giving you that chance!_ Everything..." Pitch's fingers ghost down his narrow hips pointedly- " _Everything_ you've wanted, you can find it at my side..."

It's silent for a long moment, as Pitch's eyes search his face. Jack stares hard into the distant shadows, where a thousand Fearling eyes stare emptily back.

"The children...."

"They'll _see_ you." Pitch assures him. "As you are inside...as you _really_ are."

"They'll fear me...they'll hate me..." But would they? Would they really? He would still be _Jack_ , and maybe...maybe he finally feel...

_Right._

Except...it wouldn't be right. He would be helping Pitch. He would be hurting the Guardians, and all the children he cared for. Even if they never seemed to care about him. Never saw him. Never believed in him... 

And Pitch could - could _fix_ him. All those years, begging the Moon for mercy...and here is Pitch, offering him an impossible dream...

Somehow during all of this, Pitch has found the time to draw the shadows away. There they stand, Jack with his head low, wide-eyed and silent, Pitch with one open palm placed steadily to the small of his back. And when the Nightmare King bends to whisper into his ear again, this time he doesn't flinch away.

"I would craft you into a masterpiece." Pitch promises, low and soft. And then, after a brief moment of hesitation, he closes the gap over that final, unspoken truth. "...my Darkling _Princess._ "

To hear it voiced aloud, Jack thought it might break him. But instead the words resonate, hard and fierce until he's full of a different sort of longing altogether. He finds himself staring down into the black shadows that surround Pitch's self with an acute sense of calm. Pitch himself stands like a pillar, his fingers ticking possessively down the vertebrae of Jack's spine until finally the smaller of the two gives his head a rough, distracted shake.

"I....I need to..." he looks up, locking their eyes, and Pitch sees all he needs to know in that wild blue gaze to know that he's successfully gotten under Jack's skin. "...I need to think it over."

"Very well." The darker Wisp grasps at his fingers, and Jack goes rigid in an effort not to snatch his hands away. Something cool and smooth is pressed into his palm, but before he can react, Pitch has spun him back around with a whisper of " _Don't keep me waiting._ "

And the next thing he knows, he's back in the Warren, clutching his beloved container of baby teeth to his heaving chest.


	6. Narrow

The ground is littered with broken egg shells. Fragments of gauzy pink and green lay like discarded trash. In the distance, Jack hears a band of familiar voices shouting amongst themselves as the last of many Fearlings melt away.

North still has his sabers out when he approaches, whipping around for signs of danger. Hovering next to him is Tooth. Her wings are twitching anxiously as she clasps her hands tight to her chest, covering the blind space at her comrade's back.

As for Bunnymund...Jack finds it hard to look at him. There's a faint tremble to his body where he sits crouched over, head bowed under the weight of his grief. 

It isn't hard to figure out what happened from there.

North is the first to speak. "Where _were_ you? Shadows attacked - Fearlings _everywhere_ \--"

Violet eyes obscure his vision as Tooth darts in close. "Jack? Where's Baby Tooth?"

Jack opens his mouth, but his brain is still so full of Pitch, Pitch's words, Pitch's promises. Their horrified faces seem so unreal after the maze of shadow he's just been through. 

But they were right, he realizes with sickening dread. He hadn't even noticed Baby Tooth being taken...

"Oh, oh _no_ -" Tooth's slender fingers flicker up over her mouth. She's looking at him as if he's returned tainted black. Rejection is an unfitting expression on her lovely face - her eyes look dimmer under it's shade, the brightness of her mouth muted and flat.

"Wait - listen - I, I need to talk to you." Jack begins urgently. "I need to tell you--"

"Jack, what's - where did you get _that?_ "

Her eyes have found the golden container. Jack weighs it in his palm nervously, shifting from one foot to the other.

"Tooth." he pleads, avoiding all eyes but hers. "I didn't mean for - I just - Pitch said you'd never understand, but I think-"

" _Pitch_ said...?!"

"It's not like that!" he rushes to interrupt. "I didn't mean to find him! I didn't mean for this to happen, but - _Tooth, listen, please_ -" because Tooth is starting to shake her head back and fourth in horror - "-I thought I could explain to you what was wrong - it's there in my memories, I think they can _prove_ -"

"Jack, what have you _done?_ "

"You were with _Pitch? That's_ why you weren't-" 

He clutches the teeth to himself helplessly. By the time Bunnymund starts to talk, Jack can't even lift his eyes. The broken Guardian's voice is thick with lost hope and betrayal. Shame presses down on him like a blanket.

It crosses his mind one last time, as Tooth is flitting around in vain for some miracle sign of her lost fairy, to keep pushing, to make them understand. If she would just open his memories, maybe they would see - maybe it would explain-

Only Easter would still be ruined. No amount of selfish pushing was going to fix that.

 _Selfish._ The word catches a cord in him, plucking a flat note that thrums along under his skin like a virus. _Selfish._

North averts his eyes. Tooth wilts amongst the broken eggs. It's Bunnymund who speaks at last, breaking the silence with a harsh whisper of " _Go._ "

So he goes.

\-----

Antartica could swallow up his memories easily, if only he could find the heart to throw them away.

Instead he sits by a divide, tracing frost blooms along the decorated container and willing himself to remember the person carved into it's surface.

It's just a little oval shape...a child's face. Jack runs his thumb over the mop of brown hair, the mischievous little smile that stays permanently etched into place. He can almost imagine a young girl, a brunette troublemaker dressed in white and tan. He pictures a cloak with a ruffled hood, worn slippers dashing through snow-thick trees. A father tucking her hair back. A mother warming her hands...

Jack curls his fingers into his hoodie, trying to calm the aching in his chest. He's so lost in his thoughts that it doesn't sink in right away how heavy the air around him has become. When a black smudge of darkness slips around his ankles - a Fearling face peeking up at him - he nearly drops the container in surprise.

"Pitch-!" Jack hurries to his feet, and sure enough, the Nightmare King himself stands just a few yards away, his hands tucked serenely behind his back. An unexplainable surge of shame washes over Jack at the sight, and quickly he thrusts the container back into the pocket of his hoodie and readies his staff instead.

"Alone again so soon?" Pitch says softly from his small distance away. "I thought this might happen. They never really believed in you, Jack, I was just trying to show you that..."

"You attacked them. You set me up!" Jack hisses back. "You _used_ me--"

" _Used_ you?" He laughs at the suggestion, the sound untroubled and somehow scolding. "Don't be naive! I'm the only one left who has bothered to _help_ you. I've only come here at all to bring you a gift - yes, a gift." he repeats patiently to Jack's distrusting look.

"What did you do?"

Pitch flashes his jagged teeth in a unsettling smile. His arms unfold, revealing the pale curl of gray fingers around something small and...moving. "Come and see, my dear, sweet girl...I promise it's in your favor!"

"-- _Baby Tooth?_ "

He's over in an instant, the breath tangling in his lungs as he rushes to see his tiny friend. Pitch laughs again when he stops just short of reaching her, staff readied to fight - it's as if the very sight of his defensive stance is too ridiculous to even entertain. " _Now_ what is wrong, Jack? I haven't hurt her - I haven't even given her _bad dreams_. See for yourself! Take her!" He stretches his hand out invitingly. "She's all yours..."

Now that he's closer, he can see her tiny shape struggling to be free of that grasp. Her glossy feathers are ruffled, and her face is pinched in fright...but otherwise she seems perfectly fine. Jack creeps closer. Pitch opens his palm lazily, a satisfied tilt to his jaw, and the little fairy streaks across the air and into Jack's chest before either of them can begin to react.

For a moment he's too tangled up in trying to examine her to be bothered with Pitch's presence anymore - Baby Tooth zooms around in an angry, twitting blur, grasping handfuls of his hoodie and trying pitifully to yank him in the opposite direction. Once he's gathered her into his hands, she stops and looks up at him pleadingly, almost tearfully. 

"You're okay!" Jack chortles in relief. "You're really okay!"

"As I promised." Pitch tsks. "And even better - you won't need the Guardians to get what you want, now."

"What are you saying?" Jack peers at him suspiciously. "To get what?"

"Why, your memories, of course! The little fairies are just as powerful as their master - she'll be more than enough to break open that glittering coffin you've been grieving over."

Baby Tooth gives a shrill, noisy whine and shakes her miniscule fist at him from behind the wall of Jack's thumb. She busies herself quickly with trying to lead him away again, but Jack is motionless, blinking down at her struggling form in surprise. The whistle of open wind and her tiny, impatient squeaks are all there is to hear as he reaches in his pocket for the golden container, staring down at the engraved face again...

Pitch circles around his shoulder, trailing a hand across the width of his back as he goes. "What's the matter? Don't you _want_ to see them?"

Baby Tooth shrinks back at the sight of him, burrowing herself under a warm blue sleeve. Jack opens his mouth, eyes fixed on the gaudy flask but looking right through it. He's thinking of Bunnymund, broken and defeated on Easter Day, of North's appraising smile, of Tooth and the look of kindness she had once given him, so open and hopeful and true...

" _...no?_ " Pitch breathes in a harsh whisper, snapping Jack from his thoughts. "Well then, if you're so sure, I'll just take them back-"

A bloodless hand reaches across his shoulder, and he jerks away as if burned. " _No!_ " Jack clutches the flask protectively to his chest, pivoting to meet Pitch's lidded gaze. "No - I do want them! I do..."

He fumbles for Baby Tooth, which proves a task, as she's stubbornly attached herself to the inside of his sleeve. He has to roll the fabric up to his forearm to make her stop, and even then, she won't do anything but trill and jab her fingers toward Pitch in alarm.

"I know." Jack brings his voice down to a bare whisper, hunching over his hands to speak. The conversation is still far from private, but it's the best he manage. "I know, I messed things up, but - please, Baby Tooth, I need to know."

Baby Tooth warbles at him pleadingly.

"Why do you refuse?" Pitch interrupts slyly, fixing his cold eyes on Baby Tooth. "Don't you want to help her?"

The pronoun is not lost on Jack, who both flinches at it's openness and brightens at the meaning. To Baby Tooth, the word is nothing but disarming, and her tiny, curious stare flickers uncertainly from Pitch to Jack, looking for an answer. Neither of them speak until her posture begins to wilt, and then it's Jack who leans in and pleads with her in a fast, shivering chant.

Keening sadly, she presses her palm against the diamond inlay in defeat. For a split second, Jack forgets to breathe - he can hardly believe her gesture is real--

And then the world dissolves to nothing.


	7. Pinpoint

There's a boy, laughing and standing on a low table with a sheet pulled up over his head. He tosses an arm out, shouting a practiced line, and a few nearby children pretend to be scared.

They fall on their backs, laughing. 

There's a girl, even smaller, hopping up with her hand held above eyes. Trying to compare their heights, it looks like. The boy gathers her in his arms and swings her up in the air. She laughs, and _oh_ , her laugh is so sweet, somewhere far away his heart is melting at the sound.

There is a mother and a father, telling stories, scolding, kissing, lacing up boots for their children. Cooking dinner for a special birthday. Just small portions of food, but she sets the table with attentive care. 

There's the boy, sharing a blanket his sister, their messy hair sticking out over the top identically. He lights a candle on the dirty wooden floor and makes shadow puppets while she giggles and tries to copy every shape.

There's a pair of discarded shoes in one corner, and his mother's skirt thrown on the floor. The boy stands before a washbasin and a cracked mirror, staring hard into his reflection with red-rimmed eyes. Somewhere off is the sound of crying. There's a bruise on his cheek and he can't stop touching it, rubbing it, gritting his teeth until the pain is overwhelming.

Everything blurs in and out of focus - one muggy summer with a pet frog for company, a weekend proudly showing off his broken arm. Tree climbing adventures by the plenty. Daring games, playful taunts. Pranks that left him bruised and cackling. Joy.

The boy with a pair of gleaming scissors, angrily cutting his longer hair short again, burying his face in his hands, biting his knuckles bloody to keep from screaming.

"I think you're very pretty," his sister whispers, clearly confused but wanting to help.

And then she's on a sheet of cracking ice and it's like Jack's whole life was made for this moment. This is the final test, when she whispers "I'm scared" and Jack says "we're going to have fun instead." 

Ten seconds before the ice breaks. She lifts her face from the freezing surface and her smile puts the sun to shame. 

Nine seconds. Jack saved her, and that's all she needs to know. 

Eight seconds. Seven. 

They're grinning at each other and her heart is soaring and suddenly everything, everything is crystal clear.

Five seconds before the ice breaks, and Jack knows exactly who she is.

Three...

She's--

Two...

_\--the happiest woman alive--_

_\-- **one.**_


	8. Ball and Chain

The world is faded when she opens her eyes, static in quality and pasted together in the mismatched way of a child's scrapbook. It seems like forever that she stares up into the blank slate of Antarctica's skies, feeling as disconnected and free as an astral projection.

She's...

Jack swallows hard, the memory quaking down into her core. _She._

"So, you've returned to us." a voice comments with vague surprise. It's very close, that voice, and Jack realizes at once that the slight shift of pressure in her hair isn't the North Wind at all, but a set of idling fingers.

And that her face is starting to ache...she can't stop smiling. 

Baby Tooth flickers in front of her vision, a flash of golden wings and bright, worried eyes. Jack scoops the frightened fairy into her hands and bursts into laughter.

"Did you see that? _Did you see that!?_ "

The little fairy shakes her head, darting horrified glances back at Pitch, but Jack springs to her feet, uncaring. "I had a family! I had a _sister!_ I - _I saved her..!_ "

Her insides are squirming with ecstatic joy and a fainter, heavy feeling of displacement. Jack ignores it, hugging her companion close instead. Baby Tooth, in turn, is getting very hard to see. Her beautiful gem-like body blurs and morphs until there's just a vague, green blotch in the place of where she should be.

Jack lets Baby Tooth scamper out of her hands, pressing her open palms to her smiling face instead. Her cheeks hurt, too, in an odd, prickly way. It's getting difficult to breathe. Jack has to draw in air sharp, but she ignores that, too.

Somewhere nearby, Baby Tooth is squeaking impatiently. A very blurry Pitch comes into view - he looks like a tall, bleeding slash of ink against a white paper background. Jack feels warm fingers touch her cheek and doesn't protest when they try to wipe away the frosty tracks.

"I saved her...I'm a Guardian..." she breathes. It comes out fast, before she can think it over, and at once her body stiffens in surprise. Pitch seems to flinch as well - at least, Jack can feel a sort of change in the pressure of his fingers.

"If you're so sure, Jack, then why the tears?"

 _I'm not crying!_ Jack wants to say, but her chest is still heaving and there's fresh tears on her face already and she's sure they're not going to stop anytime soon. "I was..." she says between breaths, trying reluctantly to put that weighted, out of place feeling into words. "My body was..."

"Ah yes, the body of your past self. What was she like?" Pitch asks sweetly, encouraging. "A soft face, perhaps? Long hair?"

The world blurs over anew.

"No...no, it's not important - I saved her!" Jack stutters in protest, rubbing fiercely at her own eyes. "I saved my sister's life..." 

She quiets briefly in surprise when Pitch's cool arms draw around her shoulders. The touch is kind but firm, holding her still, but gradually it feels as if the happiness she felt at seeing her sister safe and sound is being unraveled and replaced by a terrible, new truth.

"You never had a woman's body." Pitch reminds her, as gentle as can be. "Is that what you're saying, Jack?" His tone is quiet and mournful, coaxing the darkness out of her gradually. "Not even a single warm memory of what it was like to be whole...?"

"But...no...no, Pitch, _stop._ " Jack groans, trying to draw away from that draining touch, but Pitch presses a long, gray finger to her lips and shakes his head. A tremble slips through her body that has nothing to do with the cold. 

"There, there, my Darkling Dear...I understand..."

Jack _tries_ to explain, to convey that perfect moment when she knew who she was, but the sweet, snow-bright memory of her sister's face is graying in deeper shadow for every moment she remains in his embrace. Pitch pets her hair back patiently, waiting, but the words just stick in her throat until the fear and despair has taken root there instead. The frustration of parents who didn't understand, the helplessness of hiding tears, the desperate stare at her battered reflection...

Fearlings are creeping up her ankles, tangling their shadowy fingers into the seams of her torn pant legs until they're marked with lines of black. Baby Tooth gives a shuddering, pleading kind of shriek, burrowing herself underneath the layers of Jack's hoodie.

"Stop it..." Jack starts pleadingly, though she's no longer sure who she's addressing. The weak, betraying sound of her tearfully catching breath is all she can hear. 

"How painful the truth must be." Pitch sympathizes in a whisper.

 _No_ , Jack wants to say, _it was perfect. It was mine._ Only she can't remember why it was so perfect anymore, not underneath the stare of Pitch's cutting eyes, the fearful memory of rejection that's gone back three hundred years and now even further...

...she had just thought that maybe, _maybe,--_

Pitch bends to lift her into his arms. And Jack, grasping desperately for the fragments of her good memories buried underneath the terrible swell of darkness, can't find the will to protest.


	9. Dressform

Inside the lair of the Nightmare King is a globe with the same working function as North's grand map of lights. It lacks the brightness of North's creation, unsurprisingly - hollow and rusted black, it balances like a skeleton in the dim, gray air. Jack counts twenty yellow pinpricks of light before Pitch blocks the display from view.

Inside the folds of her hoodie, Baby Tooth is shivering non-stop.

This is a part of his lair she's never seen. As soon as her feet touch the ground, Fearlings swarm the floor in their eagerness to investigate. An odd chill emits from them as they slip by - not winter-cold like Jack is used to, but something stronger and emptier, a total absence of humanity. Underneath the press of darkness, it's even harder to bring her mind back to working order, and when Pitch trails a hand meaningfully down her forearm, it's as if her brain has stopped working altogether.

For a minute or so she just stares up into his face, the concentrated, satisfied stretch of thought that seems to tick visibly behind his eyes. "...very well." he whispers, and the hand drifts away, Jack stumbling along with it to keep contact before she can even question the meaning of her eagerness.

"Wait, wait. Where are you going?"

"You need to rest, Jack." he explains patiently, but she shakes her head furiously - something's not right here.

"I thought..."

"Have patience." He pauses mid-step at the sight of her. The Fearlings themselves seem to hesitate with him, twitching spidery fingers along the seamless cavern walls. Pitch's reluctance doesn't carry more than a few seconds, but it's enough time for Jack to do away with the distance between them with quick, risky steps over the living darkness.

Fear motivates her. The island that forms at her feet, isolated by the divide of darkness and scuttling Fearlings, is looking smaller by the second without Pitch there to fill the spaces. Once within reach, his own long-fingered hands stretch automatically to touch her face, pinching the jagged ends of her white hair between thumb and forefinger.

Her eyes press closed, an swell of excitement mixed with fear churning within her. She expects a pull, the unusual airborne ripple of a spell, but there is nothing for a long moment save for Pitch's faint caresses and the sound of her own uneven breath.

Jack opens her eyes. 

The look that Pitch is giving her is not one she anticipated - it's oddly vulnerable, raw and _adoring_ , as if he can't believe his good fortune. But he does seem to be waiting for something, too.

"...how is it done?" Jack dares to ask, watching every tiny shift in that expression. Pitch seems to catch her meaning, thankfully, because he draws back two bare fingers and hovers them a hair's breadth from her forehead.

"...with a touch." He murmurs. "Here."

The very thought is powerful. Just a touch against her skin, and she would become Pitch's creation, reborn in shape, in title....she's taken with the newness of it, the nervous fright and simultaneous excitement of a permanent change. But rather than make his move, Pitch only goes back to stroking her hair, more distant than she's ever seen him.

"Why don't you just...?" she starts in confusion.

"You're not ready."

The darkness buzzes around her, carnivorous. Every passing second seems heavier, twice as terrible, as if a shadow of a hand is constricting invisibly around her neck. The novel idea of _getting it over with_ comes to her fast, as smart and forceful as a physical blow. Surely once she's been reborn, the fear would be gone...

"I can decide that," she argues, going so far as it grasp at his hand as he lowers it from her cheek. " _Pitch._ "

"You won't be just _any_ Fearling, remember." he corrects. "You'll be my child, my Darkling Princess - you'll need total darkness, effort, _time_ -" she shivers, going quiet- "-you'll need to be _perfect._ And you _will_ be perfect, that I can promise you."

"Pitch..." she echoes again, trying very hard not to flicker her eyes to the shadows which are pressing steadily closer. Pitch follows her gaze with a breath of understanding. "Are you frightened?" he chuckles as she inches in closer, favoring the King to his uneasy minions. Jack winces at an unexpected trail along the nape of her neck - Pitch's nails feel sharper, precise against her skin. "Open up, then. Let the darkness in. I'll be back in time, pet...I have some business to attend to."

"Business?" Pitch doesn't answer. Jack rubs at her neck uneasily - where he's touched feel...strange, almost shivery, a kind of coldness that has nothing to do with the winter season. When she brings her hand back around, the fingers come up streaked with black.

It sends a shock through her, a brief bolt of panic that tingles through her blood and down into her fingertips. Looking down, tiny thread-like coils of darkness curl around the rumbled fabric of her hoodie, sinking over the blue dye as surely as wet ink. 

"You'll be mine soon," Pitch promises, possessive and confident, but Jack doesn't turn to answer. She can't bring herself to look away from her slowly-darkening body. Then there's a slight pressure - Pitch's lips brushing the corner of her mouth, nipping briefly at her ear -- before the quick, sharp flicker of shadow and space alerts her to his leaving.

Baby Tooth still hasn't dared to venture out. She's alone now...just her and the Fearlings.

Jack stares into the darkness, a hard, burning blush crawling into her face. The tender contact on her skin seems to linger like an afterglow. The feeling was familiar - she recalls, now, the feel of lips upon her forehead, light little pecks on her cheek - her memory, albeit clouded, offers these things for inspection as she buzzes with confusion and...something else.

Was she just...kissed?

Maybe not _directly_ , but - no, that was surely a kiss. It wasn't so chaste as her sister's, or as sentimental as her mother's, but...Jack stops to dig her nails into her cheeks at the memory, willing that thought to stay - her family, her _sister_ \- before the darkness starts to press in stubbornly, washing out the warmest details again. 

Only now the blanket of fear and hopelessness seemed curiously...false. The flickering thought of her sister's raining kisses...and Pitch's cool, lingering lips...sent strange needle-like interruptions in the Fearling's assault. The despair was there in waves, but newly punctured by the giddy, disbelieving thought of being _wanted._

Wanted by _Pitch._

Jack doesn't know how to feel about that. She's never had a particular desire for a partner as of yet - all of her wants and wishes have always revolved around her invisibility, her identity, her unhappiness with her own body...

 _Wow._ she thinks stupidly. And on the heels of that, _But, that's finally going to be fixed, isn't it? I'm finally going to be made right..._ peering down at her fingers, which seem grayer than before, she turns her face purposefully away from the frightening stares of Fearlings and instead finds her eyes drawn to Pitch's gothic display of the continents.

There are less lights, now. Jack counts seven, one after another, and by the time she's done, two more have flickered into darkness. Slowly, she approaches the hollow globe, a longing that has nothing to do with the promise of a new body building inside of her chest. Five lights. Four lights. Three...

Right now, Tooth's feathers could be falling out in pen-stroke lines of color. North could be doubled over, fading visibly. Poor, broken Bunnymund, who saw his core taken apart before his eyes... _But they hate you now,_ whispers the despair that lays so palpable in Pitch's lair. _They despise you. What makes you think they'll ever want to see you again?_

One light left. Jack shoos away the thick crowd of Fearlings so she can hop up onto the globe's rusted surface, squinting down on the tiny dot of gold...

....and she _knows_ this light. Aside from Pitch, aside from the Guardians, she knows exactly who this could be, exactly where he is right now. 

The Fearlings are rising their scratchy voices for her attention, moving fast like a churning tempest. Jack casts her eyes about quickly and makes up her mind.

"I'll be right back." she promises the shadows, standing. Because maybe the Guardians do hate her now, and maybe they'll be happy so see her gone. But the thought of Jamie standing alone, the last hopeful face in a sea of despair...

Jack has to be there for that.

If nothing else, maybe she can tell him goodbye.


	10. Butterflies

Part of her does expect to run into Pitch as she hurries along the current of the North Wind to Jamie's house. His presence seems near - the night sky is somehow darker, devoid of stars, and the kind face of the Moon is shrouded by inky clouds. But nothing intercepts her as she lands stealthily on the young boy's white windowpane, lingering invisible to hear his voice.

From the seam of her hood, Baby Tooth is finally peaking her head out, curious and confused.

"Give me a sign," Jamie is saying. "Just a little one?"

And he's so very young, isn't he? There's a wide-eyed quality of innocence to him that has never seemed to stark before. He reminds her of...well, of her own sister - even the copper shade of their hair seems to match. The thought of her hopeful face sends a gust of clarity through Jack - without the army of Fearlings there to smother her in Pitch's lair, the memory of her smile breaks through like a sunray in a clouded sky.

Jack relaxes in spite of herself, pressing her fingers flat against the glass. Frost dances across the window in curling trails. Jamie doesn't look up. He's squeezing the stuffed form of a button-eyed rabbit hopefully, staring into it's stitched face, waiting for a change.

Jack looks at Baby Tooth, who balances a tiny smile on her feathered face and nods.

What happens next seems to come from some locked away part of her, a desire for joy and trust that Pitch has gradually begun to bury. She traces her fingers fast through the fog of frost, outlining the shape of a rabbit into her hands. Jamie gasps and smiles and stands tall and hopeful on his mattress, holding his hands out to catch the falling snowflakes that rain down from it's fading form...

"Snow...?"

And then he's looking at her face and something's different. Something's off. Because he seems to _see_ her....to _really see her_. But that can't be possible, surely - she's fallen for this trick before. That moment when they seem to look past her a second too long, to linger on where she's standing. It's not real. It's just coincidence. 

Jack bends down, drained but somehow peaceful now, quietly letting her attention drift to the honey-shaded rings of color in his wide, wide eyes.

He really does look like his sister, doesn't he....? 

"Jack Frost?" Jamie breathes.

And it's that moment exactly when Jack realizes that within those eyes, her reflection is staring solidly back at her.

\-----

Pitch slips through the shadows of Burgess, Fearlings streaking along in his wake. A NightMare draws slowly from the ground, hooves smacking solidly against the concrete - all this fear is healthy for them, and it shows in the proud, eager stance of their bodies. Pitch trails his fingers affectionately through the creatures smoky mane, breathing in the tangible air of terror that clouded the night...

Just a little bit longer, now.

\----

"That's _me! That's my name!_ " Her voice is breaking as she jumps in place, spinning, clutching her graying fingers at her hoodie. Snow showers the room in fluttering, starburst shapes, drifting amongst their heads. Jamie laughs excitedly with her, clear and bell-like...until she turns around, when he promptly falls back on the bed, eyes going wide with - 

_...fear..._

"Whoa, whoa, hey, I'm not going to hurt you!" Jack laughs, still soaring with the blissful joy of recognition. She's so happy she could break apart, so happy she could _cry_ , and the fact that Jamie could be scared of her - it just didn't seem to click as a _truth_. "Look, see? It's me! Jack Frost! I'm here!"

"Your eyes..." Jamie squeaks, squinting nervously into her face. "They went all yellow for a second..."

Jack rubs her hands nervously along her sides, as if trying to rid them of dirt and grime. The darkness Pitch has infused in her swirls meekly through the threads of her clothes, kept at bay but still apparent. "No, it's nothing." she insists. "I'm here for you, okay? I promise, it's me, just me."

Slowly, the fear begins to fade from his face, replaced with that newfound joy instead. "...I knew it! I knew it, I wasn't dreaming after all! But what about Santa? And the Tooth Fairy, and the Easter Bunny and--"

"Real, real, all real!" Jack cheers, although something twinges sharply in her heart at the sound of their names.

"And you--!"

"Who do you think gives you snow days, huh? And that time you went flying on your sled?"

"That was _you?!_ " His voice drops with a note of apology, giggling. "Mom said Jack Frost was just an expression, but you're not, you're a real boy!"

"I'm not a boy!" Jack blurts out before she can stop herself, waving her hands haltingly in front of her face. The words spill out like water before she can think it through, too ecstatic and burning with energy to hide behind her shame. "I'm a girl, okay? A real girl."

But her body is no different than it's ever been. The lines of black have changed nothing yet, only paled her skin by a shade or so. Her hips are still narrow, her chest is still flat, the shape of her jaw is still wrong from any angle. Jamie tilts his head at her curiously, and for one tiny second she regrets having brought it up at all - how could she be so stupid, so naive?

And then....

"Oh...okay." Jamie blinks at her face uncertainly, then offers a shy, apologetic smile. "Sorry!"

"It's okay!" Jack forces out through numb lips, the smile sliding twitchily off her face to be replace with stunned, breathless surprise. "...it's - it's really okay...?"

"Uh-huh! So was that blizzard on Sophie's birthday you too?"

"Yeah! That was..." Jack trails off, smiling stupidly..."...me..."

"Wooooow..." Jamie falls back on his heels, looking at Jack as if she's the most perfect, incredible thing in the world. "Jack...Jack, do you hear...bells?"

Jack's breath goes tight. 

North's sleigh...it has to be. _So he's all right_ , she thinks, guiltily grateful. She should leave - the Guardians would hate to see her again, she just knows it. And Pitch...what would Pitch think? She's wasn't even supposed to be out here at all...only, if she hadn't come, maybe Jamie's light would have gone out, and she hadn't wanted that, either...

Jack manages a wobbly smile and gestures outside, where the unmistakable sound of reindeer hooves are clomping heavily on the road. "...uh, want to see?" she suggests helplessly, because Jamie looks about ready to throw himself from the window in his haste either way.

" _Yes!_ Can we?!"

 _Please, please don't let this backfire_. Jack thinks fleetingly. Because there's really no way she can refuse.


	11. All The King's Horses

Though it hasn't been overly long since she's last seen the Guardians on Easter day, her mind and the shadows both have done a thorough job of warping their memory into something terrible and looming, like a murderous thundercloud above her head. 

She recalls North's face, twisted into horror, the brightness of his eyes gone black. Tooth, her feathers shades paler, disappointed and ill - Bunnymund with his fist raised, wanting her gone, _demanding_ her gone - by now the actuality of what had happened seems long lost, dripping in fearful shadow and goaded by the infusion of darkness under her skin. Some part of her, small and hidden but completely sold to Pitch's darkness, is already convinced that if she had came out to them then, their reactions would have been no different.

The fear pulses thickly inside her as she guides Jamie safely to the ground outside his window. Spindly fingers of darkness spread further from clothing to skin in thin, formless tendrils. Jamie, dashing ahead of her in excitement, doesn't notice the change.

"It's you! I didn't dream you after all!" Jack hears him call, and she hops on the Wind to keep up with him, her heart tangled up in her throat. North is climbing off his sleigh to meet the child, but there's a sickness to his movements that are easy to see - he seems shockingly weak, his age showing in the stiffness of his joints, the bend of his back. Tooth, looking tiny and skittish against his side, is trying her hardest to keep him upright with hard, pained beats of her wings.

At the sight of the emerald Guardian, Baby Tooth puffs herself out against Jack's cheek and nuzzles her briefly in parting. Jack watches her zip towards her mistress, mustering up the very last drops of her energy and faith to tumble back into Tooth's loving embrace.

Shouting, cooing, awestruck hellos and laughter fill the air. Jack lingers a step or two behind, not daring to look up and meet their eyes.

"What are you doing here?" she hears North say in surprise, looking over Jamie's head.

"Jack found me!" Jamie cuts in excitedly, misunderstanding. "Jack Frost!"

For just a moment they're too distracted to continue questioning, caught up in greeting Jamie with awed gasps of 'the last light!' and 'he sees us!'...

"Jack, he sees _you_ ," North clarifies in wonder and confusion, and soon enough their attentions are fixed on her again. She plants a lopsided grin on her face, leaning against her staff casually. "Uh, so where's Bunny?" she starts, hoping to force the spotlight away.

Tooth leaves North propped on his sword briefly to fetch a tiny, infantile looking Bunny. It's so downright _adorable_ that she finds herself grinning helplessly. "Easter took a lot out of him...," Tooth says sadly, but she doesn't set him down, nor does she make any move to approach her. Jack hears the fear threaded high into her voice and immediately understands why.

" _You're_ the Easter Bunny?" Jamie chuckles, "but the Easter Bunny I remember was _huge_ , and _cool_ \--"

"Oh, really! Did he tell you to say that?" Bunnymund starts angrily, his voice unchanged despite his new appearance (and not helped by Jamie's giggling pets, which seem to strike a weak point in him) "Oi, that's the last straw-"

Then he stops, catching sight of Jack and shrinking back somewhat into Jamie's arms. Jack wants to melt into the ground, mortified - she can't help it, with her moment of truth steadily approaching. It feels impossible not to fear their judgement, and the darkness in her shows through more clearly than ever. She only hopes her eyes haven't become yellow again already...

" _Jack._ " Tooth squeaks pleadingly, "your _face..._ "

"Is _nightmare sand...!_ " North gasps, tightening his grip on her shoulder protectively.

"It's fine!" Jack says sorely, and immediately regrets it. It's not fine, and they know that as well as she does. "Look, I..."

And suddenly it's that Easter morning all over again, facing her would-be-friends on the other side of a great chasm...

"No!" Jamie protests, breaking the silence. "Jack was helping - she told me you were real. All of you! Just when I started to think maybe you weren't..."

Bunnymund does another double-take at the word 'she'. Jack holds her breath, but there's nothing further from Bunnymund - he seems to soften somewhat instead, staring into her face with an odd mix of unease and gratefulness. "You did...?"

" _You_ made him believe...?" North stammers out, but the hand not slung around Tooth is still held firmly on his saber. "Is this a trick?" His eyes take in the prominent darkness on Jack's form - "Have you joined... _Pitch?_ "

"But Jack's _good!_ " Jamie cries in alarm, looking alarmed at the name but apparently understanding the seriousness of it. "She helped me!"

' _She?_ ' Tooth mouths out, wide-eyed.

All eyes are on Jack now. She looks between them, steeling herself, mustering up her courage, but something seems to fail half-way through, and suddenly she finds her unspoken words swallowed up by the distant, booming sound of familiar laughter...

" _Dear, sweet Jack, how thoughtful of you to round them all up in place...!_ "

\----

Pitch grins down at them from an ocean of sand. The skies are crawling with Fearlings, thousands upon thousands of lamplit eyes, the shaking, thrashing heads of an army of Nightmares....Jamie scoops up Bunnymund quickly, hiding behind the other Guardians. His eyes flicker to her briefly, searching, and she tries to convey her sincerity, but...

It's not use - she has to act. 

Jack leaps into the air, her mind buzzing with desperation and hope, hope of keeping Jamie safe, of clearing her secrets, of making Pitch understand--

The Fearlings part in her wake, twitching hungrily: they can't seem to make up their mind of she is friend or foe. Pitch meets her halfway, eyes flashing dangerously, and Jack finds herself wrapped in a cocoon of nightmare sand that brings her centimeters away from a furious face.

"You were to _stay underground._ " Pitch breathes.

Jack gapes, briefly speechless - there's a soothing sort of power he's always adopted with her, but it's all lost in the moment now. Unwittingly, she tries to raise a hand to cover her mouth - her lips tingle strangely at their closeness, in spite of his distrust....the last time he was this close, he had kissed her.

"No...they're not going to believe in me!" she forces back at last, and the words seem to tear from her strong and unexpected, forming truths she hadn't yet considered out of thin air. Her mind is brimming with their reactions - Jamie's flash of terror at the sight of her face, the Guardians flinching away on instinct - "They're going to _fear_ me, and that's _not_ what I want! You need to stop this, Pitch!"

The genuine, wounded look that flashes across his face shocks her into silence again. His eyes rake over her form as the nightmare sand releases it's hold - clothes stained almost completely black, skin crawling with shadow...

"You dare reject me?" he whispers, livid and pale with fury. "After you are so _close...after all I've PROMISED you?!_ "

Rage brings the end of his sentence to a screaming, grinding shout, one that seems to shake the very sky of it's teeming darkness. Jack brings her staff up in defense, ducking her head for cover, but the wall of blackness that strikes back against her is far more powerful than she's expecting, and for the next few moments all that exists is the shrieking hiss of Wind flying past and the hard, painful smack of her body against the ground.

She groans, cursing at her terrible landing - or lack there of - but he's _strong_ , stronger than she's ever remembered seeing him. Already she's finding herself quickly outnumbered by prowling Fearlings, long shadows that stretch across the tiny island of empty street, cornering her into an invisible cage...

"Jack!"

It's Tooth, her eyes alight with worry, followed by Jamie, Bunnymund, and North. They rush to meet her, checking for signs of damage ("are you okay?" North cries, but he looks afraid to touch her gray-skinned shoulder.) Every part of her seems to ache as she draws back to her feet, meeting their troubled gazes, the sight of Pitch's raging eyes burned into her brain....

"I'm," she breathes, "I'm sorry, I'm so _sorry-_ "

"Jack, what did he do?" Tooth keens, biting her knuckles anxiously.

"I didn't mean for this to happen." she meets their eyes, one by one, her hands steadily brushing at her clothes in the vain hope that the blackness would rub off. "I thought you wouldn't - you wouldn't believe me. I should have just _told_ you -"

"Jack, it is okay!" North sounds panicked now, but his protective instinct seems to kick in like a sixth sense. Grasping her hand firmly, he steadies her on her feet, giving her a second crutch to grasp on to. "Whatever is trouble, you can tell us!"

"Yeah, mate, it can't be _that_ bad." pipes up Bunnymund from his nest in Jamie's arms. There's a brighter quality to his eyes - he must really consider them reconciled, after all. 

"We're here for you, Jack." Tooth promises.

They all look so tired, so weak and worn out, but their smiles persist stubbornly. It sends a surge of affection through her, to see how hard they're fighting, how desperately they guard Jamie from the enclosing shadows, how bravely they try to cover the spaces at each other's backs...

Unexpectedly, a smile of her own touches her face. 

But the shadows persist, sliding and re-forming at will, filling the air with the eager, carnivorous whines of a Fearling army. Pitch's voice creeps closer, strong and steely. "Let's snuff that last light out, shall we?" it growls. 

Jamie grasps for her sleeve in fear. His face, his voice - it's all so familiar that her vision goes white. They may as well be out on the ice again, pretending to play Hopscotch, laughing in the face of Death. Her sister's face shines clear through her memory like a great, golden pathway: big brown eyes and a smile that feels like coming home...

"Hey, hey, look at me..."

"Jack, I'm scared..."

"It's gonna be okay." Jack promises, "We're gonna have fun instead." And just like that the last pieces begin clicking together, one after another. She can see the light in Jamie's frightened eyes, and she _believes_ it - all of it - that the Guardians won't hate her, that her place is not to be carved out of shadow and fear - just as she had woken up from her memories with the taste of freezing water fresh on her tongue, staring into the sky with an answer beating at her chest - there was nothing to be afraid of, not anymore, only a thousand more snow days and a thousand more laughing smiles to create....

And when this is all over, she's going to have a talk with the Guardians. 

But for now, after all that darkness...Jack could really use a little fun.

She rubs her chilly palms together, freezing up two snowballs with more difficulty than usual (her fingers are shades into gray by now - that shadow blunts her power a bit). Jack hands one to Jamie and doesn't bother hiding her glee at the little laugh that breaks through his nervousness. "Ready, aim, fire. Let's get your friends, what do you say?"

Jamie answers with a military salute and a shy, trusting grin. "Yes _ma'am!_ "


	12. Snap

The children are a joy. Every new set of eyes on her - believing in her - is like a glorious surge of energy, reinvigorating her spirits in an escalating snowball effect. 

The Guardians charge in with vigor, but Pitch treats her with unusual coldness in the ensuing melee - it confuses her at first, but when she does finally understand, Jack can't help but feel a little frustrated: she's just another Guardian now, a downgrade in his eyes, not worth any more personal attention in the future.

But the twinge in her heart is short-lived - snowballs fly like soft, white comets, children shriek with laughter and huddle behind the Guardians as if they were great, glittering shields. Their hearts are made strong by the children's promise of protection, and sealed even stronger by their willingness to fight. 

Bunnymund, his powers renewed by faith, is greeted with a barrage of cheers that turns his victory grin into something sappy. His boomerang is added to the fray - Nightmares dissolve into dust at their touch, breaking beneath Tooth's rushing attacks and Jack's own crackling frostbolts.

But as the Nightmares give in, Pitch becomes harder and harder to target-

"Frost!" she hears as the Nightmare King closes in (not 'princess,' she reflects for just a fraction of a second, the memory swirling darkness beneath her skin, not 'pet' or 'dear' anymore.) Her surges of ice are absorbed harmlessly, forcing her to backpedal in surprise - 

Then a shock of paralysis closes in on her, quick and painless, stuttering the flow of her flight and knocking her a few feet out of the wind's course. The infused darkness in her tightens around her body like a noose ( _why hasn't it disappeared yet?_ she thinks with panic,) until the vengeful hatred that Pitch glares down at her with seems to transfer with a telepathic strength into her very skin.

"Jack?" Tooth buzzes around her as she lands, stumbling, beside a stone chimney. "Are you hurt?"

"My - _Pitch's_ shadow -" she gasps out in a halted explanation, gritting her teeth to ride out the last of the shock. Tooth's violet eyes flicker over her body reluctantly - she still hadn't explained to them how, exactly, that darkness had gotten there, after all.

"Stay near to the ground, I'll cover you!" she pipes up, optimistic. "We can do this!"

"Thanks!" Jack calls back, barely catching her little thumbs-up as she zips off, staying within her peripheral vision all the while. Jack hops down, gliding on wind and freezing the flickering bodies of Fearlings as she goes. Bunnymund is on the ground with the children, catching a boomerang at the end of it's wide arc. At the sight of Jack, Jamie peels himself away from the group and rushes to her side.

"Hey, hey-" Jack laughs as he stops just short of her. Behind her, Cupcake and Pippa are advancing on a comically dithering Nightmare - their hands clap on it's shadowy body, gold spreading from their fingertips in a rush of dreamsand. They laugh and smile at their open palms, delighted at their power. It's a touching sight.

"I have an idea," Jamie is saying, his eyes gold-touched and excited. "Come here, okay?"

Jack kneels down to level their faces, but Jamie is done talking - he reaches for Jack's hands, gripping his small fingers around her icy palm. 

At once, a sensation of _movement_ comes over her, like a thousand tiny points of light have shifted over her body, spreading in rippling waves over her skin. There's gold in her vision, honey-bright and shining, so magnificent against the darkness of the Fearling-streaked sky that Jack has to squeeze her eyes shut for fear of being blinded-

"Wooow!" come a dozen awed gasps - the children are watching her happily. Jack eases her eyes back open, feeling Jamie's hands slip off of hers - the blackness that Pitch has infused in her is sitting along the surface of her skin, fading steadily into dreamsand. Gold tendrils drift off her and into the air, sailing off into the distance. Jack breaks into a smile - it's _beautiful_ \- and Jamie bounces on his feet happily, beaming up at her in victory.

"It worked!"

"It sure did!" Jack laughs, giving a experimental hop into the air - the wind catches her like a sling, adding a twirl to her nimble feet as she dances back to the ground. "Jamie, thank you! That was _just_ what I needed."

Jamie swells with pride. Jack grins back, turns on her heel, and leaps into the sky - she can see immediately how the Guardians stand out like colored lights against the gold-streaked air, closing in on their slowly weakening target... 

_Here we go_ , Jack thinks, and makes a beeline for Pitch.

\-----

The wry smile on the Nightmare King's face is not a surprise to any of them. He traces his steps backward, gliding along the cold floor as the others advance in closer. It's not until Jack arrives that his demeanor becomes truly wild - the Guardians continue to press in, but Jack can feel every second of his cutting stare desperately scanning her body for signs of his remaining darkness.

She can see in his eyes that to him, this is the last step of total and complete betrayal. Caught on opposite ends, neither of them utter a word. Then Jack steps into the circle with her friends. "It's over." she says.

"Jack Frost..." Pitch hisses through bared teeth, the hard lines of his shoulders shaking faintly. A shiver goes through her, the unexpected ghost of his lips on her mouth. "You haven't the _guts_. An hour ago, you were _begging_ to be mine--"

"Yeah, well, I changed my mind." Jack cuts over him, her cheeks going cold. She makes a point not to look at the Guardian's faces, but luckily they have nothing to interject.

The rage in Pitch's eyes is overwhelming - Jack knows just by looking at him he's reached his breaking point. But she doesn't expect the way he lunges a hand at her, at the heart that lies hidden inside her chest, only to be stopped by a the coiling grip of a single band of dreamsand on his wrist.

Later, they would all debate the exact moment that Pitch Black was defeated. Whether it was the second he laid eyes on Sandy again, the minute the newly resurrected Guardian throttled him in happy, well-deserved vengeance, or the hour following, when no remaining child in Burgess could see the faithless form of the Boogeyman grasping desperately for their throats. Jack, sitting within these conversations but outside the circle of participation, was not actually sure when Pitch's defeat had occurred either. But she did know -- by the laser-sharp memory of his haunted, lightless eyes, reaching madly for her unfearing heart -- the exact moment when he had given up.


	13. Step By Step

The Moon smiles down at her from it's orbiting home in the sky. There are no words - there never are - but she imagines she can spot his approval. She's a Guardian now. Jack Frost, with a center of fun, turning the Big Four into the Big Five. Only her space in their hearts isn't quite set yet...there's just one thing left do to.

North's workspace is cleared, for the most part, of it's more drifting and distracting toys. Under the safe, warm-colored company of fur rugs and mahogany, the reunited team is gathered. The return of Tooth's fairies makes the air buzz with a kind of static joy that Jack is immensely grateful for. It fights any awkward silences with rapid birdtalk, the humming of wings, and tinkling sounds of tiny hands. Jack finds herself playing a spirited game of tag with a cluster of them as she waits for the others to settle in - Tooth is having a enthusiastic 'chat' with Sandy, who is showcasing pictures to answer all of her questions. In and out of the room North wanders with trays of charmingly decorated cookies.

"And hot chocolate!" he adds, setting down thick, ceramic mugs with a proud smile. Jack picks up her drink and immediately cools it's contents down to slush. Bunnymund snickers quietly as North returns with a new mug and a straw ('try sipping, yes?' he suggests kindly.)

Jack gives him a thankful smile in return. Of all of them, she gets the impression that North is the closest to knowing the truth. After her Oath had been taken - and after Pitch, in defeat, had vanished back underground - he had clapped a strong, good-natured hand on her shoulder, trailing off with a chuckle that made her raise her eyebrows suspiciously.

"What?"

"I had present for you!" he explains sadly. "But, now I am having feeling it should wait. Just little bit longer, you will see."

Now he takes a seat, settling in amongst rich black furs and the happy, curious buzz of a handful of tiny tooth fairies. Sandy, surrounded by a flurry of pictures that interchanges with alarming speed, catches her eye and eases her heart with a liquid gold grin.

Her nervousness is interwoven with excitement. It feels as if her insides are playing Hopscotch, tripping over games of Double Dutch and tangling the ropes into messy coils. She takes a slow, stalling sip of her hot chocolate - predictably, it loses it's warmth seconds seconds after it reaches her mouth - but it's a nice feeling, all the same. 

Jack rubs at her throat slowly, watching the casual assortment of her friends as they wait for her to begin.

"So," she calls out, and at the sound of her voice, every Guardian looks up. It's almost comical - five sets of wide, colorful eyes, the turning heads of many tiny fairies. Her voice sounds displaced, loud and unfitting in their wake. "I guess it's time to tell you that I'm a girl?"

In her head, Jack had planned it to sound far more elegant. But the blunt truth, held back for so long, eagerly slipped from her lips before she could arrange it into something greater. As it is now, wide eyes unblinkingly back at her. Tooth's slack mouth tugs into a startled, uncertain smile. Sandy's head has gone blank of it's telltale illustrated thoughts. North, his hands flat on either armrest, leans forward and props his elbows patiently on his knees.

"Yeah, 'cause." she fumbles for her hot chocolate again. "Cause...I am."

"Wait, wait just a second." Bunnymund starts, and Jack is acutely aware of the way North winces when he perks up, ears twitching. She can tell he's just surprised, but surprise brings the spirit out of Bunnymund like no other - she's learned as much from their years of bickering. "What do you mean, a girl? I thought..."

He stops with a small, uncertain double take, taking in Jack's sitting form as if expecting to see some signs of femininity to show unexpectedly through. 

"I mean I'm _not a boy_ ," Jack starts again, her cheeks becoming icy.

"I'm missing something here, Frostbite." his voice is all questions, confusion and concern, but it calls out a cause for defense that she hadn't planned on using. "Ya been _looking_ like a boy for as long as I've seen you-"

"Yeah, well, Pitch was going to fix that, wasn't he?" she stammers out, and the room goes deathly quiet.

Bunnymund's ears sink back against his head. Tooth's hands press up under her chin. "Oh, _Jack..._ " she whispers helplessly. No one else seems to move, taking in the implications of this as she zips across the room to join her, small hands reaching aside to clasp at her fingers companionably.

Jack takes a breath. 

"What I mean..." she starts again, catching Bunnymund's startled eyes with her own, "Is that I'm....I guess you'd call it being born in the wrong body. It isn't who I am. I'm a girl, _inside_ , in my...my center. And I'm not confused about it either, I know what it looks like, but you...you just gotta believe me, okay? This is real."

It's easier to keep going, now that she's started. She can still feel the frost forming over her cheeks at the rise of her blush, but resists the urge to wipe it off and have the others mistake it for tears. Bunnymund sits back on his haunches, exchanging glances with a nodding Tooth. The gentle stroking of her fingers on her palm is surprisingly soothing, and she gives the other Guardian a small squeeze in thanks.

"Ah, Jack Frost," North sighs sincerely, "We _do_ believe you. Of course we do."

"Maybe...Jackie? Jackelyn?" Tooth ventures in support, nodding eagerly at the others.

"Jack is fine." she laughs, thinking unwittingly of the first few decades alone with only her name to keep her company. _The Moon told me so, but that's all he ever told me._ She squeezes Tooth's hand again, and gets a hopeful smile in return.

Sandy clasps his fingers together, a golden hourglass forming above his head. It shifts and changes as Jack watches, forming a calendar, a clock...

"For... _forever._ " Jack sighs in answer, letting out at breath. "Even before I got all frosty, it's been like that." The memory of a brunette boy cutting his hair short in angry, haphazard snips flares into her minds eye. She swallows tightly, letting it pass.

"Ya never said." Bunnymund points out gruffly, looking uncharacteristically ashamed.

"Yeah," she admits, "I...didn't really think it'd work out so well if I did."

"We would never turn you away for this!" North says with booming enthusiasm, fixing his hands on his knees. It makes his stature look broader, more welcoming. "You are Guardian, and friend!"

They share a moment, eyes meeting, a sense of grateful affection flooding through her. It trickles through her body like rain through soil, slowly sinking over her remaining doubts. Sandy waves his hands a little for attention and showers the air with check marks and sparkling stars, presenting two thumbs up to her with a sweet, childlike eagerness.

"And we're so glad you're okay!" Tooth agrees, though there's a deceptive note of caution in her voice. "We were all really worried, Jack, when we saw you with Jamie..."

"You mean the darkness." It was bound to come up sooner or later - they couldn't ignore the elephant in the room forever. After all, they had all seen her with her flickering signs of Fearling traits.

Sandy concocts a glittering representation of Pitch's slender, hunched form. 

"Pitch was going to fix me." Jack explains shortly. "That was...step one, I guess. Once I was all dark and shadows, we were going to go to step two."

She shrugs tightly. Bunnymund gives her a hollow, disturbed look. "Which was, what?" he forces out, looking ill.

"Becoming a Fearling." She pauses, not so eager to meet their gazes this time. "A female one."

There's a long, heavy stretch of silence. She can feel their gazes communicating meaningfully above her head. Then;

" _Pitch_ suggested this?"

She nods stiffly. "Yeah, but I shouldn't have agreed. I know, it was stupid." _It just...seemed so right at the time._ She lets them continue whisper-talking, rubbing at her arms vaguely - there's no use interjecting, no use explaining what it was that she went through with Pitch. The overwhelming realization that he could recognize her for what she was, the shiver of joy that had warmed her blood when he had called her, for the first time, 'princess.'

His dark, wicked voice...the unexpected flash of adoration in his eyes. 

That brief, brief kiss...

"Bloody...schemin'... _Pitch._ " Bunnymund grouses, pained, into the flat of his hand.

"But Jack's is safe now, this is all past." North interrupts, knocking a hand on his chair for emphasis. "He is no Fearling!"

"She." Jack corrects.

"She! Sorry...is habit." North agrees, a little red in the face as he settles back down. 

She eyes them again, timidly, not daring to let her happiness burst through just yet. The scene seems, for the most part, in agreement. Sandy is shifting anxiously in place, jabbing a finger up above his head where the shape of a golden Jack Frost has joined Pitch. Sand swirls eerily around the little Jack, coming and going like a tempest.

"No, it's all gone." she assures him, smiling crookedly at the dream Guardian. "Jamie took care of that."

"Then, see! There is no problem. All is past!"

"You said it mate, good riddance." Bunnymund nodded eagerly.

"So it's really okay, then?" Jack cuts in shyly, grasping at her hot chocolate again to busy her free hand (North gives a moan of dismay as the heat is replaced instantaneously with ice). "Everyone?"

"Okay! Is _better_ than okay! We are _proud_ , Jack Frost! Come here--" Tooth gives a startled, laughing gasp as North stands and scoops a wincing, breathless Jack in a crushing embrace. Bunnymund resorts to smacking his palm to his face again when he kisses both her cheeks, laughing. "You are family now!"

"Bloody right." Bunnymund chimes in as Jack glances to him next, rubbing her face weakly. He gives North a _look_ as he pads over to join them. "Listen, mate, we'd have to be pure evil to turn ya down for somethin' like that."

"Absolutely!" Tooth pipes in as Sandy struggles once more to gain attention from underneath her feet. Her small horde of fairies all chirp and flutter happily like a flock of cheerleaders. "We totally support you!"

Jack can hardly manage her joy - her body seems too small, too restrictive to contain the euphoria that surges up to meet her. Little sparks of frost crawl out from her fingers, turning the lines of her staff a pale white as she paces in excitement, bouncing on her heels.

"Yeah? You really - you _really_ do-!"

The Guardians grin and give her proper space. And with her believers growing by the hour, Jack has plenty of time to start over clean. With her friend's graces, her acceptance in their lives becomes akin to a powerful, ever-present charm, boosting her happiness and freedom by leaps and bounds whenever she goes. 

It's not until weeks later, when she drops by North's workshop again for a friendly hello and a bite to eat, that she recognizes just how well they had taken her declaration. There beside a plate of gingerbread cookies sits North, a mosaic collection of nesting dolls in the process of being designed at his feet.

"Keeping busy?" 

"Jack! I was hoping to see you." North chuckles, rising carefully to his feet. "Is just finished. Your center!"

He tosses something small and wooden, which Jack just barely catches. From the weight and shape of it, it's clear it's part of a nesting doll - likely just the core of it. But the sappy grin on her face as she turns it over is replaced by something greater when she catches sight of it's design.

It's her - Jack Frost - painted in loving, exuberant color. But bringing it to her face, she sees more closely the details that make her heart skip - the rounded edge to the deep blue cloak, a fullness of the mouth, the caricatured curl of eyelashes...it's _her_ , in a shade of new light, a touch of femininity that is both subtle and sweet.

Jack blinks up at him, planning on a thank you, but suddenly whatever words she had wanted to say vanish along with every easy, sensible thought in her head. She mouths at him, speechless, overcome with gratitude and dizziness. It's as if she's been holding her breath underwater for a lifetime, and only just now has surfaced for air. Her heart feels overfull and ready to burst.

But North seems to understand.

"Sorry for wait!" he chuckles, beaming down at her with loving, honest warmth. "It just needed little bit of last-minute change."


	14. Epilogue: (but who could do without you?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last, it is done! Thank you all for your feedback and help, I can't tell you how much I appreciate it
> 
> Bonus: have a little art! My design of corrupted!Jack: [Link](http://chiwandering.tumblr.com/post/45643757973/)
> 
> EDIT: headlessgirlsart on tumblr has done an art piece that is just incredibly beautiful, ahhhh, really it's an absolute must-see. Be sure to check it out! [Link](http://theheadlessgirl.tumblr.com/post/39706548176/)

A year or two after Jack has taken her Oath, the broken hole in the ground that signaled the entrance to Pitch's lair crumbles open again.

Jack isn't sure when or why, exactly, such a thing had happened. But no sign of Pitch accompanies the event. Listening to the children for clues, she hears of the random smattering of nightmares about town, all predictably disturbing but easily shrugged off. But Pitch's dark, devious signature was not there - there were no Nightmares stomping about on guard, not even a Fearling slinking about in the shade. 

And yet the hole in the ground remains open, an easy access point for any wayward soul. Without it's marker of a broken bed, stripped paint and rotting wood, Jack has to circle a few times to locate the place from her perch in the air. It's not too difficult - the ground is all barren and dead, a little spot of gray-brown amongst thickets of trees - but what comes next, inevitably, is. 

Jack swats distrustfully at the opening with the blunt end of her staff. Dirt dirt crumbles around the edges, but it's only small bits of dust and soil. _Stable enough_ , she decides, hopping down to sit along the edge. The closeness sends a little thrill through her - it's nearer than she's ever dared to come before. Her skinny legs dangle down into the darkness beneath her, bare feet kicking aimlessly.

Below, everything is silent. She's come here every so many days to check ever since the pit had opened back up, but never once did she hear any sort of sound betraying life from within. No Fearling hisses, no Nightmarish whines. 

No Pitch.

The best solution, really, is to go down there and investigate herself. She imagines it entirely possible to do without help, and nobody would stop her if she made that choice. 

But...

Jack frowns, hugging her staff tighter to her side. But, the last time she was down there was when she had been infused with darkness herself. Surely she only had a few hours at the most before it had dug down deep enough into her soul for her to be, as Pitch said, 'ready.' Ready for him to turn her into something new. And then what would have happened? As much as she was glad at the success of her crew, that was a question that had never really faded from her head.

_What then?_

Sighing, Jack lowered her head, staring willfully into the darkness. Instinctively, she made a swipe for her forehead at the sight of blue fabric - Tooth had given her a silky blue-and-white embroidered ribbon as a parting gift at their last Christmas gathering, and Jack had gotten into a habit of tying it in her hair before exploring, more out of fondness for the other Guardian than for anything. It reminded her of Tooth, so she kept it close, but that didn't change the fact that the ends were _just_ long enough to fall into her eyes when he leaned down...not to mention that time the North Wind had tugged her clumsily-knotted bow loose...Jack found herself chasing that little scrap of silk all around Burgess in a fit, ignoring the children's shrieks of delighted laughter....

She ran a hand over her face at the thought, feeling the swell of a smile at her mouth. The truth was, she had never been happier. The children loved her, she had real, reliable friends for the first time in... _ever_ , and best of all, she could be _herself_. Sandy riddled the air with signs of positivity in her wake, Tooth kept her company on the busiest of days, Bunnymund challenged her to races and then argued over her definition of 'ladies first' until she was nearly doubled over laughing...and perhaps most touching of all, North had swept her into his workshop upon seeing her shabby skeleton of a ('second-hand' as Jack had put it defensively - in truth she had found it laying discarded in snow) gown, clapping her on the shoulder good-naturally. "We add a few things here and there, yes? Yetis have supplies enough to sew castle!"

"Really, it's fine. I don't need it," Jack had laughed self-consciously, trying to tuck the edges of her flimsy dress underneath her hoodie, but North was having none of it. Finally she had given up with a sigh of "blue, I guess?" and on Christmas day Phil the Yeti presented to her a freshly tailored dress with such an air of utmost seriousness and pride that she had to bite the insides of her cheeks to keep from making her usual reflexively teasing comments.

She wears it under her hoodie now, so that it's triangle-cut edges stick out from beneath the hem. It's sewed neatly enough that nothing gets in the way while flying, and Jack had found herself surprised at the difference that little piece of cloth had made to her cheer. Her reflection in the ice looks fuller now around the hips, softer at the throat. The first few times she saw it she had taken the Wind for a speed-run around Burgess, laughing and shrieking with weightless happiness until up and down were no longer discernable.

She feels lucky, now, incredibly lucky to be conscious, a breathing, willful creature upon the planet.

And yet...here she was, hesitating, motionless at the mouth of Pitch's soundless lair. Waiting for...what, exactly?

Wind tugs idly at her hair. Jack runs a hand through it dismissively. "I'm not afraid to go in," she explains aloud. "It's just - I don't think he's even _in_ there. Right?"

It sounds like an excuse, even to her ears. Jack rubs at the corner of her mouth, unthinking. She'd never know unless she tried. Even if Pitch was angry at the sight of her, surely he would be in no state to pose a threat. His defeat at the lake had been so thorough. She has no better reason to avoid this any longer.

 _That's it, then._ Squaring her shoulders defiantly, Jack makes up her mind. From there it's easy to brace her hands at her sides, pushing herself into the seemingly bottomless pit. Stale air rushes past her, tangling in her short, white hair and the visible edging of her dress, but the fall itself is straight and easy enough to catch. She lands on her feet like a cat.

Straightening, Jack cants a hand to her forehead and squints. It's just light enough to make out a few shapes - cages here and there, their bars a subtle pattern in the inky abyss. A set of stairs somewhere above her head, casting skeleton shadows. Mostly it's just angles and slate gray, glimpses of detail that would surely be grand and imposing if she could only make them out in full.

She places one foot in front of the other, guard up, edging slowly through the blackness. Slowly her vision seems to adjust - once or twice, she thinks she sees a familiar shape. After a minute or so, Jack is certain she's closing into _something_ \- the random, scattered eyes of weakened Fearlings peek out at her tellingly. 

When she finally sees Pitch, she finds him lounging bonelessly on a cracked, onyx throne, one cheek propped up against the back of his hand. Cloaked in shadow, he could be sleeping or dead. Jack knows better than to think it's the latter.

Still, she doesn't want to call out to him. Swallowing reflexively, Jack creeps closer, staff held before her like an extension of her arms. She doesn't expect to be hurt by him, not really, but Pitch's touch means a lot of things to her now, and none of them she's prepared to face just yet.

The hook of the staff bumps cautiously against the stone armrest, just above his knee. Frost creeps out from the contact point. Jack watches nervously as the white, spiraled blooms edge close to his elbow. 

Pitch doesn't even flinch, a broken King frozen in ruin. 

"Hey." Jack whispers hopefully. No response. A thought flashes through her head, brittle and knife-sharp: _What am I doing here, again?_

She curls the staff back into her arms, feeling obvious and too-bright in his sober presence. But it's then that Pitch curls his fingers tighter against his cheek, hissing unhappily: "... _why_ are you here, Frost?"

The name stings a little. She's not entirely sure why it should, or why she should have expected anything different. "...I thought the ground had sealed you off for good." she starts, her voice coming across oddly casual. "But it opened again not long ago. It looks the same as it used to, except that there's no bed this time..."

"You'll forgive me for not redecorating." He spits the words like acid. Jack almost wants to laugh in response, but she settles for a dry smile instead. 

"Could have hired a Yeti or three. Phil makes four-posters in every color."

Pitch's eyes flicker up to meet hers, as glassy-gold and inhuman as ever. Her breath catches in recognition. For the smallest of moments, she feels a random spike of fear waver through her. Not fear of him, precisely - she's not sure exactly what it is that she's feeling, and it's over with too fast to label. But Pitch seems to take a healthier shade at her small fright. His eye narrow, mouth quirking in the corner. Determined to defy, Jack tosses a smile of her own right back.

"Leave me, Frost. I don't need your help."

"I _guess_ not...." she agrees cautiously, stalling.

Pitch makes a stiff, dismissive gesture with his hand, but her feet feel as heavy and immobile as lead. "I, uh. I'm doing better." she ventures instead.

"How lovely for _you._ " He's still angry - she expected as much, really. Pitch's eyes find Tooth's silk ribbon and linger there. Jack has to will herself not to rip it from her hair under the weight of his stare. After a long, dragging minute, she expects him to comment, but it's Jack that caves first with a mumble of "Tooth gave it to me."

"Hm." He sounds disinterested as the gold cut of his stare slides down to inspect the edge of her dress, sticking out gracelessly from beneath her hoodie. Jack tries awkwardly to tug the fabric flat.

"North insisted." she explains shortly.

" _Did_ he..." 

"Not on the _dress_ , just, just the design. I'm kind of a practical girl myself..." she huffs, hating how that came out. "Listen - I only came to talk to you. The children have been having nightmares - not a lot of them, obviously, just here and there. Natural stuff. But I figured you must be recovering if even that much is changing..."

Pitch doesn't answer. After a minute of increasingly weighted silence, she thinks he might have gone back to ignoring her for good. Then, whisper-soft, he says "Let me see."

Jack drums her fingers questioningly on her staff, blinking at him, but there's no further elaboration save for the expectant raise of Pitch's brow. 

"...okay." Her pulse beats loudly in her ears as she does the only thing she can think to do....freezing her staff to the ground to free up her hands, she slides her fingers beneath the band of her hoodie and tugs it, clumsy, over her head. The tailored gown spills straight-lined from it's tie at her throat, a couple shades darker than her hoodie and trimmed with white stitches. It's a simple thing, really, but it's _hers_ , and the meaning of it goes much deeper than just vanity. It means no more hiding, no more shame. It's love and acceptance from her friends, and a friendly nod from her reflection. Jack makes a point to straighten the fabric casually, confidently, raising her eyebrows as if to demand, _Well?_

Pitch crooks a finger at her.

 _You'd be an idiot to come closer._ Jack thinks, but despite all common sense, that's exactly what she does. Snatching her staff back into her hands, she slings the hoodie within the crook of it for safekeeping. Each step is cautious, bare feet noiseless on the hard, gray floors.

The shadows are thicker as she gets closer to his throne. Jack actually gets to look down at him from this angle, something she's never had the opportunity to do before. But Pitch isn't looking back up at her quite yet - deliberately, he extends a hand towards her hip, giving her plenty of time to dash out of reach. 

Jack doesn't move. The touch itself is harmless - he grasps the lace-like fringe of her dress, massassing it between his bare fingers with disbelief, as if expecting it to fall apart under his inspection.

"Not your style?" Jack quips impulsively, her fingers contrastingly white-knuckled on her staff.

"My style? Please..." Pitch scoffs darkly, but when he glances up to meet her eyes she sees a whole well of unspoken words stored away behind them. Bitterness, reproach, and most surprisingly, heartache. The message that shows through is clear: _I could have done you one better._

Jack licks her lips nervously and gently eases the fabric out from between his fingers. "Yeah, maybe." she says, somewhat randomly, and Jamie's face comes uncalled to her mind's eye. "But there was too much at stake. I didn't plan to leave, but...I had to protect my friends. I can't apologize for that - I'm a Guardian now, remember? It's better this way."

"So you _think._ " Pitch snarls quietly. "'Better,' you say...you made a fool of me. I should have destroyed you for taking advantage of my generosity." The words, doubtless intended to scare, don't come out as a threat but hollow and aimless, like a question. Jack tip-toes around him to perch on the armrest of his throne, undaunted. She rolls the staff between her hands idly, letting the weight of his words settle in.

"But....you didn't." she points out at last.

"No." Pitch agrees, and through she hears the darkness - the anger and the frustration - underneath it he sounds just as confused as she is. "I didn't."

For minutes, they sit there in silence. Pitch's hand finds the hem of her dress again, rubbing at it in a hypnotic, habitual sort of way that has Jack wondering if he even realizes what he's doing. In the distance, she sees Fearling eyes blinking open at random, too many to count, but they look sleepy and weak, far too distant to be intimidating.

"Why _did_ you come here, Jack Frost?" It's the second time he's asked, and before she can open her mouth to point that out, he adds irritatingly "I know what you said - a change in the ground, a few Nightmares in the air. But that's not why you've come, not really." He pauses for breath, uncharacteristic in his speech - perhaps he's more tired than he lets on. "You've waited, agonizing and debating above me for days, and only now do you finally dare to come closer...yes, I knew you were there. Your fear has always been telling."

"Now just a second, I wasn't afraid..." Jack starts defensively, but that's only half-true. Before the ground had even opened, she had felt pangs of worry watching the solid earth, imagining a body decaying beneath. Even when the path was clear, the thought of facing him again had stirred mixed feelings.

"So why not grace me with your company immediately, if you were really so curious?" Pitch gestures.

"Excuse me, but I'm the spirit of winter, _and_ the Guardian of Fun! It's a full-time job." Jack jabs a finger toward the ceiling cheekily.

"I've no time for your excuses."

 _Yes you do_ , Jack doesn't say, _you're stuck here!_ She worries her lip, eyeing him doubtfully. "Okay....Okay, you got me. I came to, uh...to see you."

"You've come to _gloat_ , you mean to say." His stroking fingers on the hem of her dress sped up a tick, betraying an otherwise hidden anger.

"No, I..." A noise of exacerbation. She doesn't know what to say, but the next sentence seems to rip itself from her mouth of it's own accord. "Remember when, right before you left that day, you leaned in? And..."

She taps the corner of her mouth, ignoring the stubborn blush that creeps into her cheeks, chilly blue. Pitch does not respond immediately, his eyes staring expressionlessly ahead. Then, a low, bitter laugh, threaded with disbelief, shakes his shoulders.

"Jack Frost came all this way for a _kiss?_ "

"No!" she snaps. Then, sheepishly: "....no, not _exactly_. I just wanted to know if it was...you know. Real?"

"Is that so." Pitch grumbles. "Well. If you're so desperate to ease your own mind, Jack, then be done with it. Write it off as just another _bad dream._ "

The reference to his invisibility startles her. It's not what she expected, and it's far from what she wanted to hear. But somehow that bitterness is fitting - it's something she knows all to well, after all, and it would be a long, long time before Jack forgot what it was like to be cast aside and not believed in.

Impulsively, her fingertips brush his jaw, guiding his face back to her. Pitch turns his head rather sharply, a touch aggressive, but mostly just...suspicious.

"I dunno," she says, trying to sound nonchalant but only succeeding in reaching a tone that sounds embarrassingly high and breathless. "I'm pretty sure that part was real."

There's a hand on her bare ankle now, long fingers spidering over her calf. Pitch's skin is as cool and smooth as polished stone, but to her winter-made body, it's a temperature that's fitting.

Jack leans in and presses a chilly kiss to the bridge of his nose.

He makes a move as if to catch her when she pulls away, but the fingers don't connect, and she finds herself hurrying back to the solid floor, yanking her hoodie back off of her staff so she can slip it over her head again. Jack casts a glance back at him, frowning uncertainly as she straightens the hem around her dress.

Pitch is looking at her with fascination. He rubs the spot she kissed vaguely... _it must be cold_ , Jack thinks. The thought doesn't make her guilty at all - if anyone can handle a little frostbite, it's Pitch.

"You're happy, then, are you?" he says. It's hard to read his voice, now - he says the word 'happy' as if it's a curse, but there's a honest expectation of an answer there, too.

Jack fits her staff over her shoulders. "I'm very happy." She says it with meaning - it's a victory in her book.

Pitch lowers his gaze, the slight movement casting a shadow back over his face. It paints the hollow lines of his cheeks black, darkens his mouth. He looks removed from her, as if she's resigned him with her happiness to the life of an outcast. Jack wants to walk back over and smack him upside the head with the blunt end of her staff, force him to look her in the eye again, to notice that she hasn't left him yet.

But instead she lingers, watching a hand drift to his face in that same detached, unthinking way that he had touched her dress. Surely her kiss was not _that_ cold...? 

A cheeky smile lifts the corner of Jack's mouth as she turns, feather-light, on her heel. "See you later, then."

And if the promise of a future seems to touch him most of all - well, that's a victory in her book, too.


End file.
